Jt 


BRUWER 


VERRILL 
MIGHBLS 


^tf^^t^^^*^** 

-     -     ,- 


• 


KNIT.  Of  C*UF.  LIBRAttt.  Lbs 


BRUVVER 
'      JIM'S     BABY 


BY 

PHILIP 
VERRILL  MIGHELS 


L- 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 
ARPER     &      BROTHE 
PUBLISHERS    MCMIV 


Copyright,  1904,  by  HARPRR  &  BROTHERS. 

Ml  rights  reserved. 
Published  May,  1904. 


This  Volume  is 

Dedicated,  with  much  affection,  to 
My  Mother 


21  ^14 81 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  MIGHTY  LITTLE  HUNTER     ....  i 

II.  JIM  MAKES  DISCOVERIES 15 

III.  THE  WAY  TO  MAKE  A  DOLL  ....  24 

IV.  PLANNING  A  NEW  CELEBRATION  ...  33 

V.  VISITORS  AT  THE  CABIN 56 

VI.  THE  BELL  FOR  CHURCH 77 

VII.  THE  SUNDAY  HAPPENINGS 90 

VIII.  OLD  JIM  DISTRAUGHT 103 

IX.  THE  GUILTY  Miss  Doc in 

X.  PREPARATIONS  FOR  CHRISTMAS     .     .     .  121 

XI.  TROUBLES  AND  DISCOVERIES    ....  132 

XII.  THE  MAKING  OF  A  CHRISTMAS-TREE     .  153 

XIII.  THEIR  CHRISTMAS-DAY 162 

XIV.  "!F  ONLY  I  HAD  THE  RESOLUTION"    .  178 

XV.  THE  GOLD  IN  BOREALIS 189 

XVI.  ARRIVALS  IN  CAMP 199 

XVII.  SKEEZUCKS  GETS  A  NAME 211 

XVIII.  WHEN  THE  PARSON  DEPARTED    .     .     .  222 

XIX.  OLD  JIM'S  RESOLUTION 232 

XX.  IN  THE  TOILS  OF  THE  BLIZZARD       .     .  246 

XXI.  A  BED  IN  THE  SNOW 254 

XXII.  CLEANING  THEIR  SLATE 258 

XXIII.  A  DAY  OF  JOY 264 


BRUVVER    JIM'S    BABY 


CHAPTER 

I 


A   MIGHTY    LITTLE   HUNTER 

'T  all  commenced  that  bright 
November  day  of  the  Indian 
rabbit  drive  and  hunt.  The 
motley  army  of  the  Piute  tribe 
was  sweeping  tremendously 
across  a  sage-brush  valley  of  Nevada,  their 
force  two  hundred  braves  in  number.  They 
marched  abreast,  some  thirty  yards  apart, 
and  formed  a  line  that  was  more  than  two 
miles  long. 

The  spectacle  presented  was  wonderful  to 
see.  Red,  yellow,  and  indigo  in  their 
blankets  and  trappings,  the  hunters  dotted 
out  a  line  of  color  as  far  as  sight  could 
reach.  Through  the  knee-high  brush  they 
swept  ahead  like  a  firing-line  of  battle,  their 
guns  incessantly  booming,  their  advance 
never  halted,  their  purpose  as  grim  and  in- 
i 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

exorable  as  fate  itself.  Indeed,  Death,  the 
Reaper,  multiplied  two  -  hundred  -  fold  and 
mowing  a  swath  of  incredible  proportions, 
could  scarcely  have  pillaged  the  land  of  its 
conies  more  thoroughly. 

Before  the  on -press  of  the  two-mile  wall 
of  red  men  with  their  smoking  weapons,  the 
panic  -  stricken  rabbits  scurried  helplessly. 
Soon  or  late  they  must  double  back  to  their 
burrows,  soon  or  late  they  must  therefore 
die. 

Behind  the  army,  fully  twenty  Indian 
ponies,  ridden  by  the  youngster-braves  of  the 
cavalcade,  were  bearing  great  white  burdens 
of  the  slaughtered  hares. 

The  glint  of  gun-barrels,  shining  in  the 
sun,  flung  back  the  light,  from  end  to  end 
of  the  undulating  column.  Billows  of  smoke, 
out -puffing  unexpectedly,  anywhere  and 
everywhere  along  the  line,  marked  down  the 
tragedies  where  desperate  bunnies,  scudding 
from  cover  and  racing  up  or  down  before 
the  red  men,  were  targets  for  fiercely  biting 
hail  of  lead  from  two  or  three  or  more  of  the 
guns  at  once. 

2 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

And  nearly  as  frightened  as  the  helpless 
creatures  of  the  brush  was  a  tiny  little  pony- 
rider,  back  of  the  army,  mounted  on  a 
plodding  horse  that  was  all  but  hidden  by 
its  load  of  furry  game.  He  was  riding 
double,  this  odd  little  bit  of  a  youngster, 
with  a  sturdy  Indian  boy  who  was  on  in 
front.  That  such  a  timid  little  dot  of  man- 
hood should  have  been  permitted  to  join 
the  hunt  was  a  wonder.  He  was  apparently 
not  more  than  three  years  old  at  the  most. 
With  funny  little  trousers  that  reached  to 
his  heels,  with  big  brown  eyes  all  eloquent  of 
doubt,  and  with  round,  little,  copper-colored 
cheeks,  impinged  upon  by  an  old  fur  cap  he 
wore,  pulled  down  over  forehead  and  ears, 
he  appeared  about  as  quaint  a  little  man  as 
one  could  readily  discover. 

But  he  seemed  distressed.  And  how  he  did 
hang  on!  The  rabbits  secured  upon  the 
pony  were  crowding  him  backward  most 
alarmingly.  At  first  he  had  clung  to  the 
back  of  his  fellow-rider's  shirt  with  all  the 
might  and  main  of  his  tiny  hands.  As  the 
burden  of  the  rabbits  had  increased,  how- 
3 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ever,  the  Indian  hunters  had  piled  them  in 
between  the  timid  little  scamp  and  his  stur- 
dier companion,  till  now  he  was  almost  out 
on  the  horse's  tail.  His  alarm  had,  there- 
fore, become  overwhelming.  No  fondness 
for  the  nice  warm  fur  of  the  bunnies,  no  faith 
in  the  larger  boy  in  front,  could  suffice  to 
drive  from  his  tiny  face  the  look  of  woe  un- 
utterable, expressed  by  his  eyes  and  his 
trembling  little  mouth. 

The  Indians,  marching  steadily  onward, 
had  come  to  the  mountain  that  bounded  the 
plain.  Already  a  score  were  across  the  road 
that  led  to  the  mining-camp  of  Borealis,  and 
were  swarming  up  the  sandy  slope  to  com- 
plete the  mighty  swing  of  the  army,  deploy- 
ing anew  to  sweep  far  westward  through  the 
farther  half  of  the  valley,  and  so  at  length 
backward  whence  they  came. 

The  tiny  chap  of  a  game-bearer,  gripping 
the  long,  velvet  ears  of  one  of  the  jack-rab- 
bits tied  to  his  horse,  felt  a  horrid  new  sen- 
sation of  sliding  backward  when  the  pony 
began  to  follow  the  hunters  up  the  hill.  Not 
only  did  the  animal's  rump  seem  to  sink  be- 
4 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

neath  him  as  they  took  the  slope,  but  per- 
spiration had  made  it  amazingly  smooth  and 
insecure. 

The  big  fat  rabbits  rolled  against  the  des- 
perate little  man  in  a  ponderous  heap.  The 
feet  of  one  fell  plump  in  his  face,  and  seemed 
to  kick,  with  the  motion  of  the  horse.  Then 
a  buckskin  thong  abruptly  snapped  in  twain, 
somewhere  deep  in  the  bundle,  and  instant- 
ly the  ears  to  which  the  tiny  man  was  cling- 
ing, together  with  the  head  and  body  of  that 
particular  rabbit,  and  those  of  several  others 
as  well,  parted  company  with  the  pony. 
Gracefully  they  slid  across  the  tail  of  the 
much-relieved  creature,  and,  pushing  the  tiny 
rider  from  his  seat,  they  landed  with  him 
plump  upon  the  earth,  and  were  left  behind. 

Unhurt,  but  nearly  buried  by  the  four  or 
five  rabbits  thus  pulled  from  the  load  by  his 
sudden  descent  from  his  perch,  the  dazed  lit- 
tle fellow  sat  up  in  the  sand  and  solemnly 
noted  the  rapid  departure  of  the  Indian 
army — pony,  companion,  and  all. 

Not  only  had  his  fall  been  unobserved  by 
the  marching  braves,  but  the  boy  with  whom 

5 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

he  had  just  been  riding  was  blissfully  un- 
aware of  the  fact  that  something  behind  had 
dismounted.  The  whole  vast  line  of  Piute 
braves  pressed  swiftly  on.  The  shots  boom- 
ed and  clattered,  as  the  hill-sides  were  star- 
tled by  the  echoes.  Red,  yellow,  indigo— 
the  blankets  and  trappings  were  momen- 
tarily growing  less  and  less  distinct. 

More  distant  became  the  firing.  Onward, 
ever  onward,  swung  the  great,  long  column 
of  the  hunters.  Dully,  then  even  faintly, 
came  the  noise  of  the  guns. 

At  last  the  firing  could  be  heard  no  more. 
The  two  hundred  warriors,  the  ponies,  the 
boys  that  rode — all  were  gone.  Even  the 
rabbits,  that  an  hour  before  had  scampered 
here  and  there  in  the  brush  with  their  furry 
feet,  would  never  again  go  pattering  through 
the  sand.  The  sun  shone  warmly  down.  The 
great  world  of  valley  and  mountains,  gray, 
severe,  unpeopled,  was  profoundly  still,  in 
that  wonderful  way  of  the  dying  year,  when 
even  the  crickets  and  locusts  have  ceased  to 
sing. 

Clinging  in  silence  to  the  long,  soft  ears  of 
6 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

his  motionless  bunny,  the  timid  little  game- 
bearer  sat  there  alone,  big-eyed  and  dumb 
with  wonder  and  childish  alarm.  He  could 
see  not  far,  unless  it  might  be  up  the  hill,  for 
the  sage-brush  grew  above  his  head  and  cir- 
cumscribed his  view.  Miles  and  miles  away, 
however,  the  mountains,  in  majesty  of  rock 
and  snow,  were  sharply  lifting  upward  into 
blue  so  deep  and  cloudless  that  its  intimate 
proximity  to  the  infinite  was  impressively 
manifest.  The  day  was  sweet  of  the  ripe- 
ness of  the  year,  and  virginal  as  all  that 
mighty  land  itself. 

With  two  of  the  rabbits  across  his  lap,  the 
tiny  hunter  made  no  effort  to  rise.  It  was 
certainly  secure  to  be  sitting  here  in  the 
sand,  for  at  least  a  fellow  could  fall  no  far- 
ther, and  the  good,  big  mountain  was  not  so 
impetuous  or  nervous  as  the  pony. 

An  hour  went  by  and  the  mere  little  mite 
of  a  man  had  scarcely  moved.  The  sun  was 
slanting  towards  the  southwest  corner  of  the 
universe.  A  flock  of  geese,  in  a  great  chang- 
ing V,  flew  slowly  over  the  valley,  their  wings 
beating  gold  from  the  sunlight,  their  honk! 
7 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

honk!  honk!  the  note  of  the  end  of  the 
year. 

How  soon  they  were  gone!  Then  indeed 
all  the  earth  was  abandoned  to  the  quiet  lit- 
tle youngster  and  his  still  more  quiet  com- 
pany of  rabbits.  There  was  no  particular 
reason  for  moving.  Where  should  he  go,  and 
how  could  he  go,  did  he  wish  to  leave?  To 
carry  his  bunny  would  be  quite  beyond  his 
strength ;  to  leave  him  here  would  be  equally 
beyond  his  courage. 

But  the  sun  was  edging  swiftly  towards 
its  hiding  place ;  the  frost  of  the  mountain  air 
was  quietly  sharpening  its  teeth.  Already 
the  long,  gray  shadow  of  the  sage-brush  fell 
like  a  cooling  film  across  the  little  fellow's 
form  and  face. 

Homeless,  unmissed,  and  deserted,  the  tiny 
man  could  do  nothing  but  sit  there  and  wait. 
The  day  would  go,  the  twilight  come,  and  the 
night  descend — the  night  with  its  darkness, 
its  whispered  mysteries,  its  wailing  coyotes, 
cruising  in  solitary  melancholy  hither  and 
thither  in  their  search  for  food. 

But  the  sun  was  still  wheeling,  like  a  brazen 
8 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

disk,  on  the  rim  of  the  hills,  when  something 
occurred.  A  tall,  lanky  man,  something 
over  forty  years  of  age,  as  thin  as  a  hammer 
and  dusty  as  the  road  itself — a  man  with  a 
beard  and  a  long,  gray,  drooping  mustache, 
and  with  drooping  clothes — a  man  selected 
by  shiftlessness  to  be  its  sign  and  mark — 
a  miner  in  boots  and  overalls  and  great 
slouch  hat — came  tramping  down  a  trail  of 
the  mountain.  He  was  holding  in  his  dusty 
arms  a  yellowish  pup,  that  squirmed  and 
wriggled  and  tried  to  lap  his  face,  and  com- 
ported himself  in  pup-wise  antics,  till  his 
master  was  presently  obliged  to  put  him 
down  in  self-defence. 

The  pup  knew  his  duty,  as  to  racing  about, 
bumping  into  bushes,  snorting  in  places 
where  game  might  abide,  and  thumping 
everything  he  touched  with  his  super-active 
tail.  Almost  immediately  he  scented  myster- 
ies in  plenty,  for  Indian  ponies  and  hunters 
had  left  a  fine,  large  assortment  of  trails  in 
the  sand,  that  no  wise  pup  could  consent  to 
ignore. 

With  yelps  of  gladness  and  appreciation, 
9 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

the  pup  went  awkwardly  knocking  through 
the  brush,  and  presently  halted  —  bracing 
abruptly  with  his  clumsy  paws — amazed  and 
confounded  by  the  sight  of  a  frightened  little 
red-man,  sitting  with  his  rabbits  in  the  sand. 

For  a  second  the  dog  was  voiceless.  Then 
he  let  out  a  bark  that  made  things  jump, 
especially  the  tiny  man  and  himself. 

"Here,  come  here,  Tintoretto,"  drawlingly 
called  the  man  from  the  trail.  "  Come  back 
here,  you  young  tenderfoot." 

But  Tintoretto  answered  that  he  wouldn't. 
He  also  said,  in  the  language  of  puppy 
barks,  that  important  discoveries  demanded 
not  only  his  but  his  master's  attention  where 
he  was,  forthwith. 

There  was  nothing  else  for  it ;  the  mountain 
was  obliged  to  come  to  Mohammed — or  the 
man  to  the  pup.  Then  the  miner,  no  less 
than  Tintoretto,  was  astonished. 

To  ward  off  the  barking,  the  red  little 
hunter  had  raised  his  arm  across  his  face, 
but  his  big  brown  eyes  were  visible  above  his 
hand,  and  their  childish  seriousness  appealed 
to  the  man  at  once. 

10 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  Well,  cut  my  diamonds  if  it  ain't  a  kid!" 
drawled  he.  "Injun  pappoose,  or  I'm  an  elk ! 
Young  feller,  where 'd  you  come  from,  hey? 
What  in  mischief  do  you  think  you're  doin' 
here?" 

The  tiny  "Injun"  made  no  reply.  Tin- 
toretto tried  some  puppy  addresses.  He 
gave  a  little  growl  of  friendship,  and,  clamber- 
ing over  rabbits  and  all,  began  to  lick  the 
helpless  child  on  the  face  and  hands  with 
unmistakable  cordiality.  One  of  the  rabbits 
fell  and  rolled  over.  Tintoretto  bounded 
backward  in  consternation,  only  to  gather 
his  courage  almost  instantly  upon  him  and 
bark  with  lusty  defiance. 

"Shut  up,  you  anermated  disturbance," 
commanded  his  owner,  mildly.  "You're 
enough  to  scare  the  hair  off  an  elephant," 
and,  squatting  in  front  of  the  wondering 
child,  he  looked  at  him  pleasantly.  "What 
you  up  to,  young  feller,  sittin'  here  by  your- 
self?" he  inquired.  "Scared?  Needn't  be 
scared  of  brother  Jim,  I  reckon.  Say,  you 
'ain't  been  left  here  for  good?  I  saw  the 
gang  of  Injuns,  clean  across  the  country, 

2  II 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

from  up  on  the  ridge.  It  must  be  the  last  of 
their  drives.  That  it?  And  you  got  left?" 

The  little  chap  looked  up  at  him  seriously 
and  winked  his  big,  brown  eyes,  but  he  shut 
his  tiny  mouth  perhaps  a  trifle  tighter  than 
before.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  miner  ex- 
pected some  such  stoical  silence. 

The  pup,  for  his  part,  was  making  ad- 
vances of  friendship  towards  the  motionless 
rabbits. 

"Wai,  say,  Piute,"  added  Jim,  after 
scanning  the  country  with  his  kindly  eyes, 
"  I  reckon  you'd  better  go  home  with  me  to 
Borealis.  The  Injuns  wouldn't  look  to  find 
you  now,  and  you  can't  go  on  settin'  here  a 
waitin'  for  pudding  and  gravy  to  pass  up  the 
road  for  dinner.  What  do  you  say?  Want 
to  come  with  me  and  ride  on  the  outside 
seat  to  Borealis?" 

Considerably  to  the  man's  amazement  the 
youngster  nodded  a  timid  affirmative. 

"  By  honky,  Tintoretto,  I'll  bet  he  savvies 

English  as  well  as  you,"   said  Jim.     "All 

right,  Borealis  or  bust !     I  reckon  a  man  who 

travels  twenty  miles  to  git  him  a  pup,  and 

12 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

comes  back  home  with  you  and  this  here 
young  Piute,  is  as  good  as  elected  to  office. 
Injun,  what's  your  name?" 

The  tiny  man  apparently  had  nothing  to 
impart  by  way  of  an  answer. 

"  'Ain't  got  any,  maybe,"  commented  Jim. 
"What's  the  matter  with  me  namin'  you, 
hey?  Suppose  I  call  you  Aborigineezer? 
All  in  favor,  ay!  Contrary  minded?  Car- 
ried unanimously  and  the  motion  prevails." 

The  child,  for  some  unaccountable  reason, 
seemed  appalled. 

"We  can't  freight  all  them  rabbits," 
decided  the  miner.  "And,  Tintoretto,  you 
are  way-billed  to  do  some  walkin'." 

He  took  up  the  child,  who  continued  to 
cling  to  the  ears  of  his  one  particular  hare. 
As  all  the  jacks  were  tied  together,  all  were 
lifted  and  were  dangling  down  against  the 
miner's  legs. 

"Huh!  you  can  tell  what  some  people 
want  by  the  way  they  hang  right  on,"  said 
Jim.  "Wai,  no  harm  in  lettin'  you  stick  to 
one.  We  can  eat  him  for  dinner  to-morrow, 
I  guess,  and  save  his  hide  in  the  bargain." 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

He  therefore  cut  the  buckskin  thong  and  all 
but  one  of  the  rabbits  fell  to  the  earth,  on 
top  of  Tintoretto,  who  thought  he  was 
climbed  upon  by  half  a  dozen  bears.  He  let 
out  a  yowp  that  scared  himself  half  into  fits, 
and,  scooting  from  under  the  danger,  turned 
about  and  flung  a  fearful  challenge  of  barking 
at  the  prostrate  enemy. 

"Come  on,  unlettered  ignoramus,"  said 
his  master,  and,  holding  the  wondering  little 
foundling  on  his  arm,  with  his  rabbit  still 
clutched  by  the  ears,  he  proceeded  down  to 
the  roadway,  scored  like  a  narrow  gray 
streak  through  the  brush,  and  plodded  on- 
ward towards  the  mining-camp  of  Borealis. 


CHAPTER 
II 


JIM    MAKES   DISCOVERIES 

?T  was  dark  and  there  were  five 
miles  of  boot-tracks  and  seven 
miles  of  pup -tracks  left  in  the 
sand  of  the  road  when  Jim,  Tin- 
toretto, and  Aborigineezer  came 
at  length  to  a  point  above  the  small  con- 
stellation of  lights  that  marked  the  spot 
where  threescore  of  men  had  builded  a 
town. 

From  the  top  of  the  ridge  they  had  climb- 
ed, the  man  and  the  pup  alone  looked  down 
on  the  camp,  for  the  weary  little  "Injun" 
had  fallen  asleep.  Had  he  been  awake,  the 
all  to  be  seen  would  have  been  of  little 
promise.  Great,  sombre  mountains  towered 
darkly  up  on  every  side,  roofed  over  by  an 
arch  of  sky  amazingly  brilliant  with  stars. 
Below,  the  darkness  was  the  denser  for  the 
15 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

depth  of  the  hollow  in  the  hills.  Vaguely  the 
one  straight  street  of  Borealis  was  indicated 
by  the  lamps,  like  a  thin  Milky  Way  in  a 
meagre  universe  of  lesser  lights,  dimly  glow- 
ing and  sparsely  scattered  on  the  rock- 
strewn  acclivities. 

From  down  there  came  the  sounds  of  life. 
Half-muffled  music,  raucous  singing,  blows 
of  a  hammer,  yelpings  of  a  dog,  hissing  of 
steam  escaping  somewhere  from  a  boiler- 
all  these  and  many  other  disturbances  of  the 
night  furnished  a  microcosmic  medley  of  the 
toiling,  playing,  hoping,  and  fearing,  where 
men  abide,  creating  that  frailest  and  yet 
most  enduring  of  frailties — a  human  com- 
munity. 

The  sight  of  his  town  could  furnish  no 
novelties  to  the  miner  on  top  of  the  final  rise, 
and  feeling  somewhat  tired  by  the  weight 
of  his  small  companion,  as  well  as  hungry 
from  his  walking,  old  Jim  skirted  the  rocky 
slope  as  best  he  might,  and  so  came  at  length 
to  an  isolated  cabin. 

This  dark  little  house  was  built  in  the 
brush,  quite  up  on  the  hill  above  the  town, 
16 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

and  not  far  away  from  a  shallow  ravine 
where  a  trickle  of  water  from  a  spring  had 
encouraged  a  straggling  growth  of  willows, 
alders,  and  scrub.  Some  four  or  five  acres 
of  hill-side  about  the  place  constituted  the 
"Babylonian  Glory"  mining  -  claim,  which 
Jim  accounted  his,  and  which  had  seen  about 
as  much  of  his  labor  as  might  be  developed 
by  digging  for  gold  in  a  barrel. 

"Nobody  home,"  said  the  owner  to  his 
dog,  as  he  came  to  the  door  and  shouldered 
it  open.  "Wai,  all  the  more  for  us." 

That  any  one  might  have  been  at  home 
in  the  place  was  accounted  for  simply  by  the 
fact  that  certain  worthies,  playing  in  and  out 
of  luck,  as  the  wheel  of  fate  might  turn  them 
down  or  up,  sometimes  lived  with  Jim  for  a 
month  at  a  time,  and  sometimes  left  him  in 
solitude  for  weeks.  One  such  transient  part- 
ner he  had  left  at  the  cabin  when  he  started 
off  to  get  the  pup  now  tagging  at  his  heels. 
This  house-partner,  having  departed,  might 
and  might  not  return,  either  now,  a  week 
from  now,  or  ever. 

The  miner  felt  his  way  across  the  one 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

big  room  which  the  shack  afforded,  and  came 
to  a  series  of  bunks,  built  like  a  pantry 
against  the  wall.  Into  one  of  these  he  rolled 
his  tiny  foundling,  after  which  he  lighted  a 
candle  that  stood  in  a  bottle,  and  revealed 
the  smoky  interior  of  the  place. 

Three  more  of  the  bunks  were  built  in  the 
eastern  end  of  the  room;  a  fireplace  oc- 
cupied a  portion  of  the  wall  against  the  hill ; 
a  table  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  and  a 
number  of  mining  tools  littered  a  corner. 
Cooking  utensils  were  strewn  on  the  table 
liberally,  while  others  hung  against  the  wall 
or  depended  from  hooks  in  the  chimney. 
This  was  practically  all  there  was,  but  the 
place  was  home. 

Tintoretto,  beholding  his  master  preparing 
a  fire  to  heat  up  some  food,  delved  at  once 
into  everything  and  every  place  where  a  wet 
little  nose  could  be  thrust.  Having  snorted 
in  the  dusty  corners,  he  trotted  to  the  bench 
whereon  the  water-bucket  stood,  and,  stand- 
ing on  his  hind  legs,  gratefully  lapped  up  a 
drink  from  the  pail.  His  thirst  appeased,  he 
clambered  ambitiously  into  one  of  the  bunks, 
18 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

discovered  a  nice  pair  of  boots,  and,  dragging 
one  out  on  the  floor,  proceeded  to  carry  it 
under  the  table  and  to  chew  it  as  heartily 
as  possible. 

There  was  presently  savory  smoke,  suf- 
ficient for  an  army,  in  the  place,  while  sounds 
of  things  sizzling  made  music  for  the  hungry. 
The  miner  laid  bare  a  section  of  the  table, 
which  he  set  with  cups,  plates,  and  iron  tools 
for  eating.  He  then  dished  up  two  huge 
supplies  of  steaming  beans  and  bacon,  two 
monster  cups  of  coffee,  black  as  tar,  and  cut 
a  giant  pile  of  dun-colored  bread. 

"Aborigineezer,"  he  said,  "the  banquet 
waits." 

Thereupon  he  fetched  his  weary  little  guest 
to  the  board  and  attempted  to  seat  him  on 
a  stool.  The  tiny  man  tried  to  open  his  eyes, 
but  the  effort  failed.  Had  he  been  awake 
and  sitting  erect  on  the  seat  provided  for 
his  use,  his  head  could  hardly  have  come  to 
the  level  of  the  supper. 

"Can't  you  come  to,  long  enough  to  eat?" 
inquired  the  much-concerned  miner.  "No? 
Wai,  that's  too  bad.  Couldn't  drink  the 
19 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

coffee  or  go  the  beans?  H'm,  I  guess  I  can't 
take  you  down  to  show  you  off  to  the  boys 
to-night.  You'll  have  to  git  to  your  downy 
couch."  He  returned  the  slumbering  child 
to  the  bunk,  where  he  tucked  him  into  the 
blankets. 

Tintoretto  did  ample  justice  to  the  meal, 
however,  and  filled  in  so  thoroughly  that  his 
round  little  pod  of  a  stomach  was  a  burden 
to  carry.  He  therefore  dropped  himself 
down  on  the  floor,  breathed  out  a  sigh  of 
contentment,  and  shut  his  two  bright  eyes. 

Old  Jim  concluded  a  feast  that  made  those 
steaming  heaps  of  food  diminish  to  the  point 
of  vanishing.  He  sat  there  afterwards,  lean- 
ing his  grizzled  head  upon  his  hand  and 
looking  towards  the  bunk  where  the  tiny 
little  chap  he  had  found  was  peacefully 
sleeping.  The  fire  burned  low  in  the  chimney ; 
the  candle  sank  down  in  its  socket.  On  the 
floor  the  pup  was  twitching  in  his  dreams. 
Outside  the  peace,  too  vast  to  be  ruffled  by 
puny  man,  had  settled  on  all  that  tremendous 
expanse  of  mountains. 

When  his  candle  was  about  to  expire  the 
20 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

miner  deliberately  prepared  himself  for  bed, 
and  crawled  in  the  bunk  with  his  tiny  guest, 
where  he  slept  like  the  pup  and  the  child,  so 
soundly  that  nothing  could  suffice  to  disturb 
his  dreams. 

The  arrows  of  the  sun  itself,  flung  from 
the  ridge  of  the  opposite  hills,  alone  dis- 
pelled the  slumbers  in  the  cabin. 

The  hardy  old  Jim  arose  from  his  blankets, 
and  presently  flung  the  door  wide  open. 

"Come  in,"  he  said  to  the  day.  "Come 
in." 

The  pup  awoke,  and,  running  out,  barked  in 
a  crazy  way  of  gladness.  His  master  washed 
his  face  and  hands  at  a  basin  just  outside  the 
door,  and  soon  had  breakfast  piping  hot. 

By  then  it  was  time  to  look  to  Aborig- 
ineezer.  To  Jim's  delight  the  little  man 
was  wide  awake  and  looking  at  him  gravely 
from  the  blankets,  his  funny  old  cap  still 
in  place  on  his  head,  pulled  down  over  his 
ears. 

"Time  to  wash  for  breakfast,"  announced 
the  miner.  "But  I  don't  guarantee  the 
washin'  will  be  the  kind  that  mother  used  to 

21 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

give,"  and  taking  his  tiny  foundling  in  his 
arms  he  carried  him  out  to  the  basin  by  the 
door. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  in  doubt  at  the 
only  apology  for  a  wash-rag  the  shanty  af- 
forded. 

"Wai,  it's  an  awful  dirty  cloth  that  you 
can't  put  a  little  more  blackness  on,  I 
reckon,"  he  drawled,  and  dipping  it  into  the 
water  he  rubbed  it  vigorously  across  the 
gasping  little  fellow's  face. 

Then,  indeed,  the  man  was  astounded.  A 
wide  streak,  white  as  milk,  had  appeared  on 
the  baby  countenance. 

"Pierce  my  pearls!"  exclaimed  the  miner, 
"if  ever  I  saw  a  rag  in  my  shack  before  that 
would  leave  a  white  mark  on  anything !  Say !" 
And  he  took  off  the  youngster's  old  fur  cap. 

He  was  speechless  for  a  moment,  for  the 
little  fellow's  hair  was  as  brown  as  a  nut. 

"  I  snum!"  said  Jim,  wiping  the  wondering 
little  face  in  a  sort  of  fever  of  discovery  and 
taking  off  color  at  every  daub  with  the  rag. 
"White  kid — painted!  Ain't  an  Injun  by  a 
thousand  miles!" 

22 


BRUWER  JIM'S  BABY 

And  this  was  the  truth.  A  timid  little 
paleface,  fair  as  dawn  itself,  but  smeared 
with  color  that  was  coming  away  in  blotches, 
emerged  from  the  process  of  washing  and 
gazed  with  his  big,  brown  eyes  at  his  foster- 
parent,  in  a  way  that  made  the  miner  weak 
with  surprise.  Such  a  pretty  and  wistful 
little  armful  of  a  boy  he  was  certain  had 
never  been  seen  before  in  all  the  world. 

"I  snum!  I  certainly  snum!"  he  said 
again.  "I'll  have  to  take  you  right  straight 
down  to  the  boys!" 

At  this  the  little  fellow  looked  at  him 
appealingly.  His  lip  began  to  tremble. 

"No-body — wants — me,"  he  said,  in  baby 
accents,  "no-body — wants — me — anywhere." 


CHAPTER 
III 


THE   WAY   TO    MAKE   A   DOLL 

'OR  a  moment  after  the  quaint 
little  pilgrim  had  spoken,  the 
miner  stared  at  him  almost 
in  awe.  Had  a  gold  nugget 
dropped  at  his  feet  from  the 
sky  his  amazement  could  scarcely  have  been 
greater. 

"  What's  that?"  he  said.  "  Nobody  wants 
you,  little  boy?  What's  the  matter  with  me 
and  the  pup?"  And  taking  the  tiny  chap  up 
in  his  arms  he  sat  in  the  doorway  and  held 
him  snugly  to  his  rough,  old  heart  and  rocked 
back  and  forth,  in  a  tumult  of  feeling  that 
nothing  could  express. 

"Little  pard,"  he  said,  "you  bet  me  and 
Tintoretto  want  you,  right  here." 

For  his  part,  Tintoretto  thumped  the  house 
and  the  step  and  the  miner's  shins  with  the 
24 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

clumsy  tail  that  was  wagging  his  whole  puppy 
body.  Then  he  clambered  up  and  pushed  his 
awkward  paws  in  the  little  youngster's  face, 
and  licked  his  ear  and  otherwise  overwhelmed 
him  with  attentions,  till  his  master  pushed 
him  off.  At  this  he  growled  and  began  to 
chew  the  big,  rough  hand  that  suppressed 
his  demonstrations. 

In  lieu  of  the  ears  of  the  rabbit  to  which 
he  had  clung  throughout  the  night,  the  silent 
little  man  on  the  miner's  knee  was  holding 
now  to  Jim's  enormous  fist,  which  he  found 
conveniently  supplied .  He  said  nothing  more, 
and  for  quite  a  time  old  Jim  was  content  to 
watch  his  baby  face. 

"A  white  little  kid — that  nobody  wants 
—but  me  and  Tintoretto,"  he  mused,  aloud, 
but  to  himself.  "  Where  did  you  come  from, 
pardner,  anyhow?" 

The  tiny  foundling  made  no  reply.  He 
simply  looked  at  the  thin,  kindly  face  of  his 
big  protector  in  his  quaint,  baby  way,  but 
kept  his  solemn  little  mouth  peculiarly 
closed. 

The  miner  tried  a  score  of  questions,  ten- 
25 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

derly,  coaxingly,  but  never  a  thing  save  that 
confident  clinging  to  his  hand  and  a  nod  or  a 
shake  of  the  head  resulted. 

By  some  means,  quite  his  own,  the  man 
appeared  to  realize  that  the  grave  little  fel- 
low had  never  prattled  as  children  usually 
do,  and  that  what  he  had  said  had  been 
spoken  with  difficulties,  only  overcome  by 
stress  of  emotion.  The  mystery  of  whence 
a  bit  of  a  boy  so  tiny  could  have  come,  and 
who  he  was,  especially  after  his  baby  state- 
ment that  nobody  wanted  him,  anywhere, 
remained  unbroken,  after  all  the  miner's 
queries.  Jim  was  at  length  obliged  to  give 
it  up. 

"Do  you  like  that  little  dog?"  he  said,  as 
Tintoretto  renewed  his  overtures  of  com- 
panionship. "Do  you  like  old  brother  Jim 
and  the  pup?" 

Solemnly  the  little  pilgrim  nodded. 

"Want  some  breakfast,  all  pretty,  in  our 
own  little  house?" 

Once  more  the  quaint  and  grave  little  nod 
was  forthcoming. 

"All  right.  We'll  have  it  bustin'  hot  in 
26 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

the  shake  of  a  crockery  animal's  tail,"  an- 
nounced the  miner. 

He  carried  the  mite  of  a  man  inside  and 
placed  him  again  in  the  bunk,  where  the 
little  fellow  found  his  rabbit  and  drew  it 
into  his  arms. 

The  banquet  proved  to  be  a  repetition  of 
the  supper  of  the  night  before,  except  that 
two  great  flapjacks  were  added  to  the  menu, 
greased  with  fat  from  the  bacon  and  sprinkled 
a  half-inch  thick  with  soft  brown  sugar. 

When  the  cook  fetched  his  hungry  little 
guest  to  the  board  the  rabbit  came  as  well. 

"You  ought  to  have  a  dolly,"  decided 
Jim,  with  a  knowing  nod.  "If  only  I  had 
the  ingenuity  I  could  make  one,  sure,"  and 
throughout  the  meal  he  was  planning  the 
manufacture  of  something  that  should  beat 
the  whole  wide  world  for  cleverness. 

The  result  of  his  cogitation  was  that  he 
took  no  time  for  washing  the  dishes  after 
breakfast,  but  went  to  work  at  once  to  make 
a  doll.  The  initial  step  was  to  take  the 
hide  from  the  rabbit.  Sadly  but  unresist- 
ingly the  little  pilgrim  resigned  his  pet,  and 
3  27 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

never  expected  again  to  possess  the  comfort 
of  its  fur  against  his  face. 

With  the  skin  presently  rolled  up  in  a 
nice  light  form,  however,  the  miner  was 
back  in  the  cabin,  looking  for  something  of 
which  to  fashion  a  body  and  head  for  the 
lady-to-be.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing 
handy,  till  he  thought  of  a  peeled  potato 
for  the  lady's  head  and  a  big  metal  powder- 
flask  to  supply  the  body. 

Unfortunately,  as  potatoes  were  costly, 
the  only  tuber  they  had  in  the  house  was  a 
weazened  old  thing  that  parted  with  its 
wrinkled  skin  reluctantly  and  was  not  very 
white  when  partially  peeled.  However,  Jim 
pared  off  enough  of  its  surface  on  which  to 
make  a  countenance,  and  left  the  darker 
hide  above  to  form  the  dolly's  hair.  He 
bored  two  eyes,  a  nose,  and  a  mouth  in  the 
toughened  substance,  and  blackened  them 
vividly  with  soot  from  the  chimney.  After 
this  he  bored  a  larger  hole,  beneath  the  chin, 
and  pushed  the  head  thus  created  upon  the 
metal  spout  of  the  flask,  where  it  certainly 
stuck  with  firmness. 

28 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

With  a  bit  of  cord  the  skin  of  the  rabbit 
was  now  secured  about  the  neck  and  body 
of  the  lady's  form,  and  her  beauty  was  com- 
plete. That  certain  particles  of  powder  rat- 
tled lightly  about  in  her  graceful  interior 
only  served  to  render  her  manners  more 
animated  and  her  person  more  like  good, 
lively  company,  for  Jim  so  decided  himself. 

"There  you  are.  That's  the  prettiest  dol- 
ly you  ever  saw  anywhere,"  said  he,  as  he 
handed  it  over  to  the  willing  little  chap. 
"And  she  all  belongs  to  you." 

The  mite  of  a  boy  took  her  hungrily  to  his 
arms,  and  Jim  was  peculiarly  affected. 

"Do  you  want  to  give  her  a  name?"  he 
said. 

Slowly  the  quaint  little  pilgrim  shook  his 
head. 

"Have  you  got  a  name?"  the  miner  in- 
quired, as  he  had  a  dozen  times  before. 

This  time  a  timid  nod  was  forthcoming. 

"Oh,"  said  Jim,  in  suppressed  delight. 
"What  is  your  nice  little  name?" 

For  a  moment  coyness  overtook  the  tiny 
man.  Then  he  faintly  replied,  "Nu-thans." 
29 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Nuisance?"  repeated  the  miner,  and 
again  he  saw  the  timid  little  nod. 

"But  that  ain't  a  name,"  said  Jim.  "Is 
'Nuisance'  all  the  name  the  baby's  got?" 

His  bit  of  a  guest  seemed  to  think  very 
hard,  but  at  last  he  nodded  as  before. 

"Well,  string  my  pearls,"  said  the  miner 
to  himself,  "if  somebody  'ain't  been  mean 
and  low!"  He  added,  cheerfully,  "Wai,  it's 
easier  to  live  down  a  poor  name  than  it  is 
to  live  up  to  a  fine  one,  any  day,  but  we'll 
name  you  somethin'  else,  I  reckon,  right 
away.  And  ain't  that  dolly  nice?" 

The  two  were  in  the  midst  of  appreciating 
the  charms  of  her  ladyship  when  the  cabin 
door  was  abruptly  opened  and  in  came  a 
coatless,  fat,  little,  red-headed  man,  puffing 
like  a  bellows  and  pulling  down  his  shirt- 
sleeves with  a  great  expenditure  of  energy, 
only  to  have  them  immediately  crawl  back 
to  his  elbows. 

"Hullo,  Keno,"  drawled  the  lanky  Jim. 
"  I  thought  you  was  mad  and  gone  away  and 
died." 

"Me?  Not  me!"  puffed  the  visitor. 
30 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"What's  that?"  and  he  nodded  himself 
nearly  off  his  balance  towards  the  tiny  guest 
he  saw  upon  a  stool. 

With  a  somewhat  belated  bark,  Tintoretto 
suddenly  came  out  from  his  boot-chewing 
contest  underneath  the  table  and  gave  the 
new-comer  an  apoplectic  start. 

"Hey!"  he  cried.  "Hey!  By  jinks!  a 
whole  menajry!" 

"  That's  the  pup,"  said  Jim.  "  And,  Keno, 
here's  a  poor  little  skeezucks  that  I  found 
a-sittin'  in  the  brush,  'way  over  to  Coyote 
Valley.  I  fetched  him  home  last  night,  and 
I  was  just  about  to  take  him  down  to  camp 
and  show  him  to  the  boys." 

"By  jinks!"  said  Keno.     "Alive!" 

"Alive  and  smart  as  mustard,"  said  the 
suddenly  proud  possessor  of  a  genuine  sur- 
prise. "You  bet  he's  smart!  I've  often 
noticed  how  there  never  yet  was  any  other 
kind  of  a  baby.  That's  one  consolation 
left  to  every  fool  man  livin' — he  was  once 
the  smartest  baby  in  the  world." 

"Alive!"  repeated  Keno,  as  before.  "I'm 
go  in'  right  down  and  tell  the  camp!" 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

He  bolted  out  at  the  door  like  a  shot,  and 
ran  down  the  hill  to  Borealis  with  all  his 
might. 

Aware  that  the  news  would  be  spread  like 
a  sprinkle  of  rain,  the  lanky  Jim  put  on  his 
hat  with  a  certain  jaunty  air  of  importance, 
and  taking  the  grave  little  man  on  his  arm, 
with  the  new-made  doll  and  the  pup  for 
company,  he  followed,  where  Keno  had  just 
disappeared  from  view,  down  the  slope. 

A  moment  later  the  town  was  in  sight, 
and  groups  of  flannel-shirted,  dusty-booted, 
slouchily  attired  citizens  were  discernible 
coming  out  of  buildings  everywhere. 

Running  up  the  hill  again,  puffing  with 
added  explosiveness,  Keno  could  hardly  con- 
tain his  excitement. 

"  I've  told  em!"  he  panted.  " They  know 
he's  alive  and  smart  as  mustard!" 


CHAPTER 

IV 


PLANNING    A    NEW    CELEBRATION 

'HE  cream,  as  it  were,  of  the 
population  of  the  mining-camp 
were  ready  to  receive  the  group 
from  up  on  the  hill.  There  were 
nearly  twenty  men  in  the  dele- 
gation, representing  every  shade  of  inele- 
gance. Indeed,  they  demonstrated  beyond 
all  argument  that  the  ways  of  looking  rough 
and  unkempt  are  infinite.  There  were  tall 
and  short  who  were  rough,  bearded  and 
shaved  who  were  rougher,  and  washed  and 
unwashed  who  were  roughest.  And  there 
were  still  many  denizens  of  Borealis  not 
then  on  exhibition. 

Webber,    the    blacksmith;    Lufkins,    the 
teamster;  Bone,  the  "barkeep";  Dunn,  the 
carpenter,    and    Field,    who    had   first   dis- 
covered precious  ore  at  Borealis,  and  sold 
33 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

out  his  claims  for  a  gold  watch  and  chain— 
which  subsequently  proved  to  be  brass — all 
these  and  many  another  shining  light  of  the 
camp  could  be  counted  in  the  modest  assem- 
blage gathered  together  to  have  a  look  at  the 
"kid"  just  reported  by  Keno. 

Surprise  had  been  laid  on  double,  in  the 
town,  by  the  news  of  what  had  occurred. 
In  the  first  place,  it  was  almost  incredible 
that  old  "If -only"  Jim  had  actually  made 
his  long  -  threatened  pilgrimage  to  fetch  his 
promised  pup,  but  to  have  him  back  here, 
not  only  with  the  dog  in  question,  but  also 
with  a  tiny  youngster  found  at  the  edge  of 
the  wilderness,  was  far  too  much  to  compre- 
hend. 

In  a  single  bound,  old  Jim  had  been  ele- 
vated to  a  starry  firmament  of  importance, 
from  wellnigh  the  lowest  position  of  insignif- 
icance in  the  camp,  attained  by  his  general 
worthlessness  and  shiftlessness — of  mind  and 
demeanor  —  which  qualities  had  passed  into 
a  proverb  of  the  place.  Procrastination,  like 
a  cuckoo,  had  made  its  nest  in  his  pockets, 
where  the  hands  of  Jim  would  hatch  its 
34 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

progeny.  Labor  and  he  abhorred  each  other 
mightily.  He  had  never  been  known  to  strike 
a  lick  of  work  till  larder  and  stomach  were 
both  of  them  empty  and  credit  had  taken  to 
the  hills.  He  drawled  in  his  speech  till  the 
opening  parts  of  the  good  resolutions  he  fre- 
quently uttered  were  old  and  forgotten  be- 
fore the  remainders  were  spoken.  He  loitered 
in  his  walk,  said  the  boys,  till  he  clean  for- 
got whether  he  was  going  up  hill  or  down. 
"Hurry,"  he  had  always  said,  by  way  of  a 
motto,  "is  an  awful  waste  of  time  that  a 
feller  could  go  easy  in." 

Yet  in  his  shambling,  easy-going  way,  old 
Jim  had  drifted  into  nearly  every  heart  in  the 
camp.  His  townsmen  knew  he  had  once 
had  a  good  education,  for  outcroppings  there- 
of jutted  from  his  personality  even  as  his 
cheek  -  bones  jutted  out  of  his  russet  old 
countenance. 

Not  by  any  means  consenting  to  permit 
old  Jim  to  understand  how  astonishment 
was  oozing  from  their  every  pore,  the  men 
brought  forth  by  Keno's  news  could  not, 
however,  entirely  mask  their  incredulity  and 
35 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

interest.  As  Jim  came  deliberately  down 
the  trail,  with  the  pale  little  foundling  on 
his  arm,  he  was  greeted  with  every  possible 
term  of  familiarity,  to  all  of  which  he  drawled 
a  response  in  kind. 

Not  a  few  in  the  group  of  citizens  pulled 
off  their  hats  at  the  nearer  approach  of  the 
child,  then  somewhat  sheepishly  put  them  on 
again.  With  stoical  resolutions  almost  im- 
mediately upset,  they  gathered  closely  in 
about  the  miner  and  his  tiny  companion, 
crowding  the  red-headed  Keno  away  from 
his  place  of  honor  next  to  the  child. 

The  quaint  little  pilgrim,  in  his  old,  fur  cap 
and  long,  "man's"  trousers,  looked  at  the 
men  in  a  grave  way  of  doubt  and  ques- 
tioning. 

"  It's  a  sure  enough  kid,  all  the  same,"  said 
one  of  the  men,  as  if  he  had  previously  en- 
tertained some  doubts  of  the  matter.  "  And 
ain't  he  white!" 

"  Of  course  a  white  kid's  white,"  answered 
the  barkeep,  scornfully. 

"Awful  cute  little  shaver,"  said  another. 
"  By  cracky,  Jim,  you  must  have  had  him 
36 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

up  yer  sleeve  for  a  week!  He  don't  look 
more'n  about  one  week  old." 

"Aw,  listen  to  the  man  afraid  to  know 
anything  about  anything!"  broke  in  the 
blacksmith.  "One  week!  He's  four  or  five 
months,  or  I'm  a  woodchuck." 

"You  kin  tell  by  his  teeth,"  suggested  a 
leathery  individual,  stroking  his  bony  jaw 
knowingly.  "  I  used  to  be  up  on  the  game 
myself,  but  I'm  a  little  out  of  practice  jest 
at  present." 

"Shut  up,  you  scare  him,  Shaky,"  ad- 
monished the  teamster.  "He's  a  pretty  lit- 
tle chipmunk.  Jim,  wherever  did  you  git 
him?" 

Jim  explained  every  detail  of  his  trip  to 
fetch  the  pup,  stretching  out  his  story  of 
finding  the  child  and  bringing  him  hither, 
with  pride  in  every  item  of  his  wonderful 
performance.  His  audience  listened  with 
profound  attention,  broken  only  by  an  oc- 
casional exclamation. 

"  Old  If-only  Jinj !  Old  son-of-a-sea-cook !" 
repeated  one,  time  after  time. 

Meanwhile  the  silent  little  man  himself  was 
37 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

clinging  to  the  miner's  flannel  collar  with  all 
his  baby  strength.  With  shy  little  glances 
he  scanned  the  members  of  the  group,  and 
held  the  tighter  to  the  one  safe  anchorage 
in  which  he  seemed  to  feel  a  confidence.  A 
number  of  the  rough  men  furtively  attempted 
a  bit  of  coquetry,  to  win  the  favor  of  a  smile. 

"  You  don't  mean,  Jim,  you  found  him  jest 
a-settin'  right  in  the  bresh,  with  them  dead 
jack-rabbits  lyin'  all  'round?"  insisted  the 
carpenter. 

"That's  what,"  said  Jim,  and  reluctantly 
he  brought  the  tale  to  its  final  conclusion, 
adding  his  theory  of  the  loss  of  the  child  by 
the  Indians  on  their  hunt,  and  bearing  down 
hard  on  the  one  little  speech  that  the  tiny 
foundling  had  made  just  this  morning. 

The  rough  men  were  silenced  by  this. 
One  by  one  they  took  off  their  hats  again, 
smoothed  their  hair,  and  otherwise  made 
themselves  a  trifle  prettier  to  look  upon 

"Well,  what  you  goin'  to  do  with  him, 
Jim?"  inquired  Field,  after  a  moment. 

"Oh,  I'll  grow  him  up,"  said  Jim.     "And 
some  day  I'll  send  him  to  college." 
38 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"College  be  hanged!"  said  Field.  "A  lot 
of  us  best  men  in  Borealis  never  went  to 
college — and  we're  proud  of  it!" 

"So  the  little  feller  said  nobody  wanted 
him,  did  he?"  asked  the  blacksmith.  "Well, 
I  wouldn't  mind  his  stayin'  'round  the  shop. 
Where  do  you  s'pose  he  come  from  first? 
And  painted  like  a  little  Piute  Injun!  No 
wonder  he's  a  scared  little  tike." 

"I  ain't  the  one  which  scares  him,"  an- 
nounced a  man  whose  hair,  beard,  and  eyes 
all  stuck  out  amazingly.  "  If  I'd  'a'  found  him 
first  he'd  like  me  same  as  he  takes  to  Jim." 

"Speakin'  of  catfish,  where  the  little  fel- 
ler come  from  original  is  what  gits  to  me," 
said  Field,  the  father  of  Borealis,  reflective- 
ly. "You  see,  if  he's  four  or  five  months 
old,  why  he's  sure  undergrowed.  You  could 
drink  him  up  in  a  cupful  of  coffee  and  never 
even  cough.  And  bein'  undergrowed,  why, 
how  could  he  go  on  a  rabbit  -  drive  along 
with  the  Injuns?  I'll  bet  you  there's  some- 
thin'  mysterious  about  his  origin." 

"Huh!  Don't  you  jump  onto  no  little 
shaver's  origin  when  you  'ain't  got  any  too 
39 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

much  to  speak  of  yourself,"  the  blacksmith 
commanded.  "He's  as  big  as  any  little 
skeezucks  of  his  size!" 

"Kin  he  read  an'  write?"  asked  a  person 
of  thirty -six,  who  had  "picked  up"  the 
mentioned  accomplishments  at  the  age  of 
thirty-five. 

"He's  alive  and  smart  as  mustard!"  put 
in  Keno,  a  champion  by  right  of  prior  ac- 
quaintance with  the  timid  little  man. 

"Wai,  that's  all  right,  but  mustard  don't 
do  no  sums  in  'rithmetic,"  said  the  bar- 
keep.  "I'm  kind  of  stuck,  myself,  on  this 
here  pup." 

Tintoretto  had  been  busily  engaged  mak- 
ing friends  in  any  direction  most  handily 
presented.  He  wound  sinuously  out  of  the 
barkeep's  reach,  however,  with  pup  -  wise 
discrimination.  The  attention  of  the  com- 
pany was  momentarily  directed  to  the  small 
dog,  who  came  in  for  not  a  few  of  the  camp's 
outspoken  compliments. 

"  He's  mebbe  all  right,  but  he's  homely  as 
Aunt  Marier  comin'  through  the  thrashin'- 
machine,"  decided  the  teamster. 
40 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

The  carpenter  added:  "He's  so  all-fired 
awkward  he  can't  keep  step  with  hisself." 

"Wai,  he  ain't  so  rank  in  his  judgment  as 
some  I  could  indicate,"  drawled  Jim,  pre- 
pared to  defend  both  pup  and  foundling  to 
the  last  extent.  "At  least,  he  never  thought 
he  was  smart,  abscondin'  with  a  little  free 
sample  of  a  brain." 

"What  kind  of  a  mongrel  is  he,  anyway?" 
inquired  Bone. 

"Thorough  -  breed,"  replied  old  Jim. 
"  There  ain't  nothing  in  him  but  dog." 

The  blacksmith  was  still  somewhat  long- 
ingly regarding  the  pale  little  man  who  con- 
tinued to  cling  to  the  miner's  collar.  "  What's 
his  name?"  said  he. 

"Tintoretto,"  answered  Jim,  still  on  the 
subject  of  his  yellowish  pup. 

"Tintoretto?"  said  the  company,  and  they 
variously  attacked  the  appropriateness  of 
any  such  a  "handle." 

"What  fer  did  you  ever  call  him  that?" 
asked  Bone. 

"Wai,  I  thought  he  deserved  it,"  Jim  con- 
fessed. 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Poor  little  kid  —  that's  all  I've  got  to 
say,"  replied  the  compassionate  blacksmith. 

"That  ain't  the  kid's  name,"  corrected 
Jim,  with  alacrity.  "  That's  what  I  call  the 
pup." 

"That's  worse,"  said  Field.  "For  he's  a 
dumb  critter  and  can't  say  nothing  back." 

"  But  what's  the  little  youngster's  name?" 
inquired  the  smith,  once  again. 

"Yes,  what's  the  little  shaver's  name?" 
echoed  the  teamster.  "  If  it's  as  long  as  the 
pup's,  why,  give  us  only  a  mile  or  two  at 
first,  and  the  rest  to-morrow." 

"  I  was  goin'  to  name  him  'Aborigineezer,' " 
Jim  admitted,  somewhat  sheepishly.  "  But 
he  ain't  no  Piute  Injun,  so  I  can't." 

"Hard-hearted  ole  sea-serpent!"  ejacu- 
lated Field.  "No  wonder  he  looks  like 
cryin'." 

"Oh,  he  ain't  goin'  to  cry,"  said  the 
blacksmith,  roughly  patting  the  frightened 
little  pilgrim's  cheek  with  his  great,  smutty 
hand.  "What's  he  got  to  cry  about,  now 
he's  here  in  Borealis?" 

"  Well,  leave  him  cry,  if  he  wants  to,"  said 
42 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

the  fat  little  Keno.     "I  'ain't  heard  a  baby 
cry  fer  six  or  seven  years." 

"Go  off  in  a  corner  and  cry  in  your 
pocket,  and  leave  it  come  out  as  you  want 
it,"  suggested  Bone.  "Jim,  you  said  the 
little  feller  kin  talk?" 

"Like  a  greasy  dictionary,"  said  Jim, 
proudly. 

"Well,  start  him  off  on  somethin'  stirrin'." 

"You  can't  start  a  little  youngster  off 
a-talkin'  when  you  want  to,  any  more  than 
you  can  start  a  turtle  runnin'  to  a  fire," 
drawled  Jim,  sagely. 

"Then,  kin  he  walk?"  insisted  the  bar- 
keep. 

Jim  said,  "  What  do  you  s'pose  he's  wearin' 
pants  for,  if  he  couldn't?" 

"  Put  him  down  and  leave  us  see  him, 
then." 

"This  ain't  no  place  for  a  child  to  be 
walkin'  'round  loose,"  objected  the  gray  old 
miner.  "  He'll  walk  some  other  time." 

"Aw,  put  him  down,"  coaxed  the  smith. 
"  We'd  like  to  see  a  little  feller  walk.  There's 
never  bin  no  such  a  sight  in  Borealis." 
4  43 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  Yes,  put  him  down !"  chorused  the  crowd. 

"We'll  give  him  plenty  of  elbow-room," 
added  Webber.  "Git  back  there,  boys,  and 
give  him  a  show." 

As  the  group  could  be  satisfied  with 
nothing  less,  and  Jim  was  aware  of  their 
softer  feelings,  he  disengaged  the  tiny  hand 
that  was  closed  on  his  collar  and  placed  his 
tiny  charge  upon  his  feet  in  the  road. 

How  very  small,  indeed,  he  looked  in  his 
quaint  little  trousers  and  his  old  fur  cap! 

Instantly  he  threw  the  one  little  arm  not 
engaged  with  the  furry  doll  about  the  big, 
dusty  knee  of  his  known  protector,  and 
buried  his  face  in  the  folds  of  the  rough, 
blue  overalls. 

"Aw,  poor  little  tike!"  said  one  of  the 
men.  "Take  him  back  up,  Jim.  Anyway, 
you  'ain't  yet  told  us  his  name,  and  how  kin 
any  little  shaver  walk  which  ain't  got  a 
name?" 

Jim  took  the  mere  little  toy  of  a  man 
again  in  his  arms  and  held  him  close  against 
his  heart. 

"  He  'ain't  really  got  any  name,"  he  con- 
44 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

fessed.  "If  only  I  had  the  poetic  vocabu- 
lary I'd  give  him  a  high -class  out-and- 
outer." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  a  good  old  home- 
made name  like  Si  or  Hank  or  Zeke?"  in- 
quired Field,  who  had  once  been  known  as 
Hank  himself. 

"They  ain't  good  enough,"  objected  Jim. 
"  If  only  I  can  git  an  inspiration  I'll  fit  him 
out  like  a  barn  with  a  bran'  -  new  coat  of 
paint." 

"Well,  s'pose —  '  started  Keno,  but  what 
he  intended  to  say  was  never  concluded. 

"What's  the  fight?"  interrupted  a  voice, 
and  the  men  shuffled  aside  to  give  room  to 
a  well-dressed,  dapper-looking  man.  It  was 
Parky,  the  gambler.  He  was  tall,  and  easy 
of  carriage,  and  cultivated  a  curving  black 
mustache.  In  his  scarf  he  wore  a  diamond 
as  large  as  a  marble.  At  his  heels  a  shivering 
little  black-and-tan  dog,  with  legs  no  larger 
than  pencils  and  with  a  skull  of  secondary- 
importance  to  its  eyes,  followed  him  mincing- 
ly  into  the  circle  and  stood  beside  his  feet 
with  its  tail  curved  in  under  its  body. 
45 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"What  have  you  got?  Huh!  Nothing 
but  a  kid!"  said  the  gambler,  in  supreme 
contempt. 

"And  a  pup!"  said  Keno,  aggressively. 

The  gambler  ignored  the  presence  of  the 
child,  especially  as  Tintoretto  bounded  clum- 
sily forward  and  bowled  his  own  shaking  ef- 
figy of  a  canine  endways  in  one  glad  burst  of 
friendship. 

The  black-and-tan  let  out  a  feeble  yelp. 
With  his  boot  the  gambler  threw  Tintoretto 
six  feet  away,  where  he  landed  on  his  feet 
and  turned  about  growling  and  barking  in 
puppywise  questioning  of  this  sudden  ma- 
noeuvre. With  a  few  more  staccato  yelps, 
the  shivering  black-and-tan  retreated  behind 
the  gambler's  legs. 

"  Of  all  the  ugly  brutes  I  ever  seen,"  said 
Parky,  "that's  the  worst  yellow  flea-trap  of 
the  whole  caboose." 

"Wai,  I  don't  know,"  drawled  Jim,  as  he 
patted  his  timid  little  pilgrim  on  the  back 
in  a  way  of  comfort.  "All  dogs  look  alike 
to  a  flea,  and  I  reckon  Tintoretto  is  as 
good  flea-feed  as  the  next.  And,  anyhow,  I 
46 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

wouldn't  have  a  dog  the  fleas  had  deserted. 
When  the  fleas  desert  a  dog,  it's  the  same  as 
when  the  rats  desert  a  ship.  About  that 
time  a  dog  has  lost  his  doghood,  and  then 
he  ain't  no  better  than  a  man  who's  lost  his 
manhood." 

"Aw,  I'd  thump  you  and  the  cur  together 
if  you  didn't  have  that  kid  on  deck,"  sneered 
the  gambler. 

"You  couldn't  thump  a  drum,"  answered 
Jim,  easily.  "Come  back  here,  Tintoretto. 
Don't  you  touch  that  skinny  little  critter 
with  the  shakes.  I  wouldn't  let  you  eat  no 
such  a  sugar-coated  insect." 

The  crowd  was  enjoying  the  set  -  to  of 
words  immensely.  They  now  looked  to  Parky 
for  something  hot.  But  the  man  of  card-skill 
had  little  wit  of  words. 

"Don't  git  too  funny,  old  boy,"  he  cau- 
tioned. "I'd  just  as  soon  have  you  for  break- 
fast as  not." 

"  I  wish  the  fleas  could  say  as  much  for 
you  or  your  imitation  dog,"  retorted  Jim. 
"There's  just  three  things  in  Borealis  that 
go  around  smellin'  thick  of  perfume,  and 

47 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

you  and  that  little  two-ounce  package  of 
dog  -  degeneration  are  maybe  some  worse 
than  the  other." 

Parky  made  a  belligerent  motion,  but  Web- 
ber, the  blacksmith,  caught  his  arm  in  a  pow- 
erful grip. 

"Not  to-day,"  he  said.  "The  boys  don't 
want  no  gun-play  here  this  mornin'." 

"You're  a  lot  of  old  women  and  babies," 
said  Parky,  and  pushing  through  the  group 
he  walked  away,  a  certain  graceful  insolence 
in  his  bearing. 

"  Speakin'  of  catfish,"  said  Field, "  we  ought 
to  git  up  some  kind  of  a  celebration  to  wel- 
come Jim's  little  skeezucks  to  the  camp." 

"  That's  the  ticket,"  agreed  Bone.  "  What's 
the  matter  with  repeatin'  the  programme  we 
had  for  the  Fourth  of  July?" 

"No,  we  want  somethin'  new,"  objected 
the  smith.  "It  ought  to  be  somethin'  we 
never  had  before." 

"  Why  not  wait  till  Christmas  and  git  good 
and  ready?"  said  Jim. 

The  argument  was  that  Christmas  was 
something  more  than  four  weeks  away. 
48 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"We've  got  to  have  a  rousin'  big  Christ- 
mas fer  little  Skeezucks,  anyhow,"  suggested 
Bone.  "What  sort  of  a  celebration  is  there 
that  we  'ain't  never  had  in  Borealis?" 

"Church,"  said  Keno,  promptly. 

This  caused  a  silence  for  a  moment. 

"  Guess  that's  so,  but — who  wants  church?" 
inquired  the  teamster. 

"We  might  git  up  somethin'  worse,"  said 
a  voice  in  the  crowd. 

"How?"  demanded  another. 

"It  wouldn't  be  so  far  off  the  mark  for 
a  little  kid  like  him,"  tentatively  asserted 
Field,  the  father  of  the  camp.  "S'pose  we 
give  it  a  shot?" 

"  Anything  suits  me,"  agreed  the  carpenter. 
"Church  might  be  kind  of  decent,  after  all. 
Jim,  what  you  got  to  say  'bout  the  sub- 
ject?" 

Jim  was  still  patting  the  timid  little  found- 
ling on  the  back  with  a  comforting  hand. 

"Who'd  be  preacher?"  said  he. 

They  were  stumped  for  a  moment. 

"Why  — you,"  said  Keno.     "Didn't  you 
find  little  Skeezucks?" 
49 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  Kerrect,"  said  Bone.  "Jim  kin  talk  like 
a  steam  fire-engine  squirtin'  languages." 

"If  only  I  had  the  application,"  said  Jim, 
modestly,  "I  might  git  up  somethin'  pass- 
able. Where  could  we  have  it?" 

This  was  a  stumper  again.  No  building 
in  the  camp  had  ever  been  consecrated  to  the 
uses  of  religious  worship. 

Bone  came  to  the  rescue  without  delay. 

"You  kin  have  my  saloon,  and  not  a  cent 
of  cost,"  said  he. 

"  Bully  fer  Bone!"  said  several  of  the  men. 

"Y-e-s,  but  would  it  be  just  the  tip- 
toppest,  tippe-bob-royal  of  a  place?"  in- 
quired Field,  a  little  cautiously. 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  said  Bone. 
"When  it's  church  it's  church,  and  I  guess 
it  would  know  the  way  to  behave !  If  there's 
anything  better,  trot  it  out." 

"  You  can  come  to  the  shop  if  it  suits  any 
better,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "  It  'ain't  got 
no  floor  of  gold,  and  there  ain't  nothing  like 
wings,  exceptin'  wheels,  but  the  fire  kin  be 
kept  all  day  to  warm  her  up,  and  there's 
plenty  of  room  fer  all  which  wants  to  come." 
50 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"If  I'm  goin'  to  do  the  preachin',  I'd 
like  the  shop  first  rate,"  said  Jim.  "What 
day  is  to-day?" 

"  Friday,"  replied  the  teamster. 

"  All  right.  Then  we'll  say  on  Sunday  we 
celebrate  with  church  in  Webber's  black- 
smith shop,"  agreed  old  Jim,  secretly  de- 
lighted beyond  expression.  "We  won't  git 
gay  with  anything  too  high-falootin',  but 
we'd  ought  to  git  Shorty  Hobb  to  show  up 
with  his  fiddle." 

"Certain!"  assented  the  barkeep.  "You 
kin  leave  that  part  of  the  game  to  me." 

"If  we've  got  it  all  settled,  I  reckon  I'll 
go  back  up  to  the  shack,"  said  Jim.  "The 
little  feller  'ain't  had  a  chance  yet  to  play 
with  his  doll." 

"Is  that  a  doll?"  inquired  the  teamster, 
regarding  the  grave  little  pilgrim's  bundle  of 
fur  in  curiosity.  "  How  does  he  know  it's  a 
doll?" 

"  He  knows  a  good  sight  more  than  lots  of 
older  people,"  answered  Jim.  "And  if  only 
I've  got  the  gumption  I'll  make  him  a  whole 
slough  of  toys  and  things." 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  Well,  leave  us  say  good-bye  to  him  'fore 
you  go,"  said  the  blacksmith.  "Does  he 
savvy  shakin'  hands?" 

He  gave  a  little  grip  to  the  tiny  hand  that 
held  the  doll,  and  all  the  others  did  the  same. 
Little  Skeezucks  looked  at  them  gravely, 
his  quaint  baby  face  playing  havoc  with 
their  rough  hearts. 

"Softest  little  fingers  I  ever  felt,"  said 
Webber.  "I'd  give  twenty  dollars  if  he'd 
laugh  at  me  once." 

"Awful  nice  little  shaver,"  said  another. 

"  I  once  had  a  mighty  touchin'  story  hap- 
pen to  me,  myself,"  said  Keno,  solemnly. 

"What  was  it?"  inquired  a  sympathetic 
miner. 

"Couldn't  bear  to  tell  it  -  -  not  this 
mornin',"  said  Keno.  "Too  touchin'." 

"  Good-bye  fer  just  at  present,  little  Skee- 
zucks," said  Field,  and,  suddenly  divesting 
himself  of  his  brazen  watch  and  chain,  he 
offered  it  up  as  a  gift,  with  spontaneous 
generosity.  "Want  it,  Skeezucks?"  said  he. 
"Don't  you  want  to  hear  it  go?" 

The  little  man  would  relax  neither  his 
52 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

clutch  on  Jim's  collar  nor  his  hold  of  his 
doll,  wherefore  he  had  no  hand  with  which 
to  accept  the  present. 

"Do  you  think  he  runs  a  pawn-shop, 
Field?"  said  the  teamster.  "  Put  it  back." 

The  men  all  guffawed  in  their  raucous  way. 

"Keeps  mighty  good  time,  all  the  same," 
said  Field,  and  he  re-swung  the  chain,  like 
a  hammock,  from  the  parted  wings  of  his 
vest,  and  dropped  the  huskily  ticking  guard- 
ian of  the  minutes  back  to  its  place  in  his 
pocket. 

"Watches  that  don't  keep  perfect  time," 
drawled  Jim,  "  are  scarcer  than  wimmin  who 
tell  their  age  on  the  square." 

"  Better  come  over,  Jim, and  have  a  drink," 
suggested  the  barkeep.  "  You're  sure  one  of 
the  movin'  spirits  of  Borealis." 

"No,  I  don't  think  I'll  start  the  little 
feller  off  with  the  drinkin'  example,"  replied 
the  miner.  "You'll  often  notice  that  the 
men  who  git  the  name  of  bein'  movin' 
spirits  is  them  that  move  a  good  deal  of 
whiskey  into  their  interior  department.  I 
reckon  we'll  mosey  home  the  way  we  are." 
S3 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  I  guess  I'll  join  you  up  above,"  said  the 
fat  little  Keno,  pulling  stoutly  at  his  sleeves. 
"  You'll  need  me,  anyway,  to  cut  some  brush 
fer  the  fire." 

With  tiny  Skeezucks  gravely  looking  back- 
ward at  the  group  of  men  all  waving  their 
hats  in  a  rough  farewell,  old  Jim  started 
proudly  up  the  trail  that  led  to  the  Baby- 
lonian Glory  claim,  with  Tintoretto  romping 
awkwardly  at  his  heels. 

Suddenly,  Webber,  the  blacksmith,  left 
the  group,  and  ran  quickly  after  them  up 
the  slope. 

"  Say,  Jim,"  he  said.  "  I  thought,  perhaps, 
if  you  reckoned  little  Skeezucks  ought  to 
bunk  down  here  in  town — why — I  wouldn't 
mind  if  you  fetched  him  over  to  the  house. 
There's  plenty  of  room." 

"Wai,  not  to-day  I  won't,"  said  Jim. 
"  But  thank  you,  Webber,  all  the  same." 

"All  right,  but  if  you  change  your  mind 
it  won't  be  no  trouble  at  all,"  and,  not  a 
little  disappointed,  the  smith  waved  once 
more  to  the  little  pilgrim  on  the  miner's 
arm  and  went  back  down  the  hill. 
54 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Then  up  spoke  Keno. 

"  Bone  and  Lufkins  both  wanted  me  to  tell 
you,  Jim,  if  you  happen  to  want  a  change  fer 
little  Skeezucks,  you  can  fetch  him  down  to 
them,"  he  said.  "  But  of  course  we  ain't 
agoin'  to  let  'em  have  our  little  kid  in  no 
great  shakes  of  a  hurry." 


CHAPTER 
V 


VISITORS   AT    THE  CABIN 

'HEN  Jim  and  his  company  had 
disappeared  from  view  up  the 
rock-strewn  slope,  the  men  left 
below  remained  in  a  group,  to 
discuss  not  only  the  marvellous 
advent  of  a  genuine  youngster  in  Borealis, 
but  likewise  the  fitness  of  old  If-only  Jim 
as  a  foster-parent. 

"  I  wouldn't  leave  him  raise  a  baby  rattle- 
snake of  mine,"  said  Field,  whose  watch  had 
not  been  accepted  by  the  foundling.  "  In 
fact,  there  ain't  but  a  few  of  us  here  into 
camp  which  knows  the  funderments  of 
motherhood,  anyhow." 

"  I  don't  mind  givin'  Jim  a  few  little 
pointers  on  the  racket,"  responded  Bone. 
"  Never  knew  Jim  yet  to  chuck  out  my  ad- 
vice." 

56 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"He's  too  lazy  to  chuck  it,"  vouchsafed 
the  teamster.  "He  just  lets  it  trickle  out 
and  drip." 

"Well,  we'll  watch  him,  that's  all,"  Field 
remarked,  with  a  knowing  squint  in  his  eyes, 
and  employing  a  style  he  would  not  have 
dared  to  parade  in  the  hearing  of  Jim.  "  Bo- 
realis  has  come  to  her  formaline  period,  and 
she  can't  afford  to  leave  this  child  be  raised 
extraneous.  It's  got  to  be  done  with  honor 
and  glory  to  the  camp,  even  if  we  have  to 
take  the  kid  away  from  Jim  complete." 

"He  found  the  little  skeezucks,  all  the 
same,"  the  blacksmith  reminded  them. 
"That  counts  for  somethin'.  He's  got  a 
right  to  keep  him  for  a  while,  at  least,  unless 
the  mother  should  heave  into  town." 

"Or  the  dad,"  added  Lufkins. 

"Shoot  the  dad!"  answered  Bone.  "A 
dad  which  would  let  a  little  feller  small  as 
him  git  lost  in  the  brush  don't  deserve  to  git 
him  back." 

"  Mysterious  case,   sure   as  lizards  is  in- 
sects," said  an  individual  heretofore  silent. 
"  I  guess  I'll  go  and  tell  Miss  Doc  Dennihan." 
57 


'"Ain't  Miss  Doc  bin  told  — and  her  the 
only  decent  woman  in  the  camp?"  inquired 
Field.  "I'll  go  along  and  see  you  git  it 
right." 

"No  Miss  Doc  in  mine,"  said  the  smith. 
"I'll  git  back  and  blow  my  fire  up  before  she's 
plump  dead  out.  Fearful  vinegar  Miss  Doc 
would  make  if  ever  she  melted." 

Miss  Dennihan,  sister  of  "Doc"  Dennihan, 
was  undeniably  If-only  Jim's  exact  antithe- 
sis—  a  scrupulously  tidy,  exacting  lady,  so 
severe  in  her  virtues  and  so  acrid  in  de- 
nunciations of  the  lack  of  down-east  circum- 
spection that  nearly  every  man  in  camp 
shied  off  from  her  abode  as  he  might  have 
shied  from  a  bath  in  nitric  acid.  Six  months 
prior  to  this  time  she  had  come  to  Borealis 
from  the  East,  unexpectedly  plumping  down 
upon  her  brother  "Doc"  with  all  her  moral 
fixity  of  purpose,  not  only  to  his  great  dis- 
tress of  mind,  but  also  to  that  of  all  his 
acquaintances  as  well.  She  had  raided  the 
ethical  standing  of  miners,  teamsters,  and 
men  -  about  -  town ;  she  had  outwardly  and 
inwardly  condemned  the  loose  and  indeco- 
58 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

rous  practices  of  the  camp;  she  had  made 
herself  an  accusing  hand,  as  it  were,  point- 
ing out  the  road  to  perdition  which  all  and 
sundry  of  the  citizens  of  Borealis,  including 
"  Doc,"  were  travelling.  If  -  only  Jim  had 
promptly  responded  to  her  natural  antipathy 
to  all  that  he  represented,  and  the  strained 
relations  between  the  pair  had  furnished 
much  amusement  for  the  male  population 
of  the  place. 

It  was  now  to  this  lady  that  Field  and  his 
friend  proposed  a  visit.  The  group  of  men 
broke  up,  and  the  news  that  each  one  had  to 
tell  of  the  doings  of  Jim  was  widely  spread ; 
and  the  wonder  increased  till  it  stretched 
to  the  farthest  confines  of  the  place.  Then 
as  fast  as  the  miners  and  other  laborers,  who 
were  busy  with  work,  could  get  away  for  a 
time  sufficiently  long,  they  made  the  pil- 
grimage up  the  slope  to  the  cabin  where  the 
tiny  foundling  had  domicile.  They  found 
the  timid  little  man  seated,  with  his  doll,  on 
the  floor,  from  which  he  watched  them  grave- 
ly, in  his  baby  way. 

Half  the  honors  of  receiving  the  groups 

*  59 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

and  showing  off  the  quaint  little  Skeezucks 
were  assumed  by  Keno,  with  a  grace  that 
might  have  been  easy  had  he  not  been 
obliged  to  pull  down  his  shirt-sleeves  with 
such  exasperating  frequency. 

But  Jim  was  the  hero  of  the  hour,  as  he 
very  well  knew.  Time  after  time,  and  ever 
with  thrilling  new  detail  and  added  inci- 
dent, he  recounted  the  story  of  his  find, 
gradually  robbing  even  Tintoretto,  the 
pup,  of  such  of  the  glory  as  he  really  had 
earned. 

The  pup,  however,  was  recklessly  indif- 
ferent. He  could  pile  up  fresh  glories  every 
minute  by  bowling  the  little  pilgrim  on  his 
back  and  walking  on  his  chest  to  lap  his 
ear.  This  he  proceeded  to  do,  in  his  clumsy 
way  of  being  friendly,  with  a  regularity  only 
possible  to  an  enthusiast.  And  every  time 
he  did  it  anew,  either  Keno  or  Jim  or  a 
visitor  would  shy  something  at  him  and 
call  him  names.  This,  however,  only  served 
to  incite  him  to  livelier  antics  of  licking 
everybody's  face,  wagging  himself  against 
the  furniture,  and  dragging  the  various 
60 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

bombarding  missiles  between  the  legs  of  all 
the  company. 

There  were  men,  who  apparently  had  noth- 
ing else  to  do,  who  returned  to  the  cabin  on 
the  hill  with  every  new  visiting  deputation. 
A  series  of  ownership  in  and  familiarity 
with  the  grave  little  chap  and  his  story 
came  upon  them  rapidly.  Field,  the  father 
of  Borealis,  was  the  most  assiduous  guide 
the  camp  afforded.  By  afternoon  he  knew 
more  about  the  child  than  even  Jim  him- 
self. 

For  his  part,  the  lanky  Jim  sat  on  a  stool, 
looking  wiser  than  Solomon  and  Moses  rolled 
in  one,  and  greeted  his  wondering  acquaint- 
ances with  a  calm  and  dignity  that  his  one- 
ness in  the  great  event  was  magnifying  hour- 
ly. That  such  an  achievement  as  finding 
a  lost  little  pilgrim  in  the  wilderness  might 
be  expected  of  his  genius  every  day  was  firm- 
ly impressed  upon  himself,  if  not  on  all  who 
came. 

"  Speakin'  of  catfish,  Jim  thinks  he's  hoein' 
some  potatoes,"  said  Field  to  a  group  of  his 
friends.  "  If  one  of  us  real  live  spirits  of 
61 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Borealis  had  bin  in  his  place,  it's  ten  to  one 
we'd  'a'  found  a  pair  of  twins." 

All  the  remainder  of  the  day,  and  even 
after  dinner,  and  up  to  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  the  new  arrivals,  or  the  old  ones 
over  again,  made  the  cabin  on  the  hill  their 
Mecca. 

"Shut  the  door,  Keno,  and  sit  outside, 
and  tell  any  more  that  come  along,  the  show 
is  over  for  the  day,"  instructed  Jim,  at  last. 
"The  boy  is  goin'  to  bed." 

"Did  he  bring  a  nightie?"  said  Keno. 

"Forgot  it,  I  reckon,"  answered  Jim,  as 
he  took  the  tired  little  chap  in  his  arms. 
"  If  only  I  had  the  enterprise  I'd  make  him 
one  to-night." 

But  it  never  got  made.  The  pretty  little 
armful  of  a  boy  went  to  sleep  with  all  his 
baby  garments  on,  the  long  "  man's"  trousers 
and  all,  and  Jim  permitted  all  to  remain  in 
place,  for  the  warmth  thereof,  he  said.  Into 
the  bunk  went  the  tiny  bundle  of  humanity, 
his  doll  tightly  held  to  his  breast. 

Then  Jim  sat  down  and  watched  the  bunk, 
till  Keno  had  come  inside  and  climbed  in  a 
62 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

bed  and  begun  a  serenade.  At  twelve  o'clock 
the  miner  was  still  awake.  He  went  to  his 
door,  and,  throwing  it  open,  looked  out  at 
the  great,  dark  mountains  and  the  brilliant 
sky. 

"  If  only  I  had  the  steam  I'd  open  up  the 
claim  and  make  the  little  feller  rich,"  he 
drawled  to  himself.  Then  he  closed  the 
door,  and,  removing  his  clothing,  got  into 
the  berth  where  his  tiny  guest  was  sleeping, 
and  knew  no  more  till  the  morning  came  and 
a  violent  knocking  on  his  window  prodded 
his  senses  into  something  that  answered  for 
activity. 

"Come  in!"  he  called.  "Come  in,  and 
don't  waste  all  that  noise." 

The  pup  awoke  and  let  out  a  bark. 

In  response  to  the  miner's  invitation  the 
caller  opened  the  door  and  entered.  Jim 
and  Keno  had  their  heads  thrust  out  of  their 
bunks,  but  the  two  popped  in  abruptly  at 
the  sight  of  a  tall  female  figure.  She  was 
homely,  a  little  sharp  as  to  features,  and  a 
little  near  together  and  piercing  as  to  eyes. 
Her  teeth  were  prominent,  her  mouth  un- 
63 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

questionably  generous  in  dimensions,  and  a 
mole  grew  conspicuously  upon  her  chin. 
Nevertheless,  she  looked,  as  Jim  had  once 
confessed,  "  remarkly  human."  On  her  head 
she  wore  a  sun-bonnet.  Her  black  alpaca 
dress  was  as  styleless  and  as  shiny  as  a 
stovepipe.  It  was  short,  moreover,  and 
therefore  permitted  a  view  of  a  large,  flat 
pair  of  shoes  on  which  polish  for  the  stove- 
pipe aforesaid  had  been  lavishly  coated. 

It  was  Miss  Doc  Dennihan.  Having  duly 
heard  of  the  advent  of  a  quaint  little  boy, 
found  in  the  brush  by  the  miner,  she  had 
come  thus  early  in  the  morning  to  gratify  a 
certain  hunger  that  her  nature  felt  for  the 
sight  of  a  child.  But  always  one  of  the  good 
woman's  prides  had  been  concealment  of 
her  feelings,  desires,  and  appetites.  She  had 
formed  a  habit,  likewise,  of  hiding  not  a  few 
of  her  intentions.  Instead  of  inquiring  now 
for  what  she  sought,  she  glanced  swiftly 
about  the  interior  of  the  cabin  and  said: 

"Ain't  you  lazy-joints  got  up  yet  in  this 
here  cabin?" 

"Been  up  and  hoisted  the  sun  and  went 
64 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

back  to  bed,"  drawled  Jim,  while  Keno  drew 
far  back  in  his  berth  and  fortified  himself 
behind  his  blankets.  "Glad  to  see  you, 
but  sorry  you've  got  to  be  goin'  again  so 
soon." 

"I  'ain't  got  to  be  goin',"  corrected  the 
visitor,  with  decision.  "I  jest  thought  I'd 
call  in  and  see  if  your  clothin'  and  kitchen 
truck  was  needin'  a  woman's  hand.  Break- 
fast over  to  our  house  is  finished  and  John 
has  went  to  work,  and  everything  has  bin 
did  up  complete,  so  'tain't  as  if  I  was  takin' 
the  time  away  from  John ;  and  this  here  place 
is  disgraceful  dirty,  as  I  could  see  with 
nuthin'  but  a  store  eye.  Is  these  here  over- 
halls  your'n?" 

"When  I'm  in  'em  I  reckon  they  are," 
drawled  Jim,  in  some  disquietude  of  mind. 
"But  don't  you  touch  'em!  Them  pants  is 
heirlooms.  Wouldn't  have  anybody  fool 
with  them  for  a  million  dollars." 

"They  don't  look  worth  no  such  a  figger," 
said  Miss  Dennihan,  as  she  held  them  up  and 
scanned  them  with  a  critical  eye.  "They're 
wantin'  a  patch  in  the  knee.  It's  lucky  fer 

65 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

you  I  toted  my  bag.  I  kin  always  match 
overhalls,  new  or  faded." 

Keno  slyly  ventured  to  put  forth  his  head, 
but  instantly  drew  it  back  again. 

Jim,  in  his  bunk,  was  beginning  to  sweat. 
He  held  his  little  foundling  by  the  hand  and 
piled  up  a  barrier  of  blankets  before  them. 
That  many  another  of  the  male  residents  of 
Borealis  had  been  honored  by  similar  visita- 
tions on  the  part  of  Miss  Doc  was  quite  the 
opposite  of  reassuring.  That  the  lady  gener- 
ally came  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  and  re- 
mained in  response  to  a  passion  for  making 
things  glisten  with  cleanliness,  he  had  heard 
from  a  score  of  her  victims.  He  knew  she 
was  here  to  get  her  eyes  on  the  grave  little 
chap  he  was  cuddling  from  sight,  but  he  had 
no  intention  of  sharing  the  tiny  pilgrim  with 
any  one  whose  attentions  would,  he  deemed, 
afford  a  trial  to  the  nerves. 

"  Seems  to  me  the  last  time  I  saw  old  Doc 
his  shirt  needed  stitchin'  in  the  sleeve,"  he 
said.  "How  about  that,  Keno?" 

Keno  was  dumb  as  a  clam. 

"You  never  seen  nuthin'  of  the  sort," 
66 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

corrected  Miss  Doc,  with  asperity,  and,  re- 
moving her  bonnet,  she  sat  down  on  a  stool, 
Jim's  overalls  in  hand  and  her  bag  in  her  lap. 
"John's  mended  regular,  all  but  his  hair, 
and  if  soap  -  suds  and  bear's  -  grease  would 
patch  his  top  he  wouldn't  be  bald  another 
day." 

"He  ain't  exactly  bald,"  drawled  the  un- 
comfortable miner.  "His  hair  was  parted 
down  the  middle  by  a  stroke  of  lightnin'. 
Or  maybe  you  combed  it  yourself." 

"  Don't  you  try  to  git  comical  with  me !"  she 
answered.  "  I  didn't  come  here  for  triflin'." 

Her  back  being  turned  towards  the  end 
of  the  room  wherein  the  red-headed  Keno 
was  ensconced,  that  diffident  individual 
furtively  put  forth  his  hand  and  clutched 
up  his  boots  and  trousers  from  the  floor. 
The  latter  he  managed  to  adjust  as  he 
wormed  about  in  the  berth.  Then  silently, 
stealthily,  trembling  with  excitement,  he  put 
out  his  feet,  and  suddenly  bolting  for  the  door, 
with  his  boots  in  hand,  let  out  a  yell  and  shot 
from  the  house  like  a  demon,  the  pup  at  his 
heels,  loudly  barking. 

67 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Keno!  Keno!  come  back  here  and  stand 
your  share!"  bawled  Jim,  lustily,  but  to  no 
avail. 

"Mercy  in  us!"  Miss  Doc  exclaimed. 
"  That  man  must  be  crazy." 

Jim  sank  back  in  his  bunk  hopelessly. 

"  It's  only  his  clothes  makes  him  look 
foolish,"  he  answered.  "He's  saner  than 
I  am,  plain  as  day." 

"Then  it's  lucky  I  came,"  decided  the 
visitor,  vigorously  sewing  at  the  trousers. 
"The  looks  of  this  house  is  enough  to  drive 
any  man  insane.  You're  an  ornary,  shift- 
less pack  of  lazy-joints  as  ever  I  seen.  Why 
don't  you  git  up  and  cook  your  breakfast?" 

Perspiration  oozed  from  the  modest  Jim 
afresh. 

"  I  never  eat  breakfast  in  the  presence  of 
ladies,"  said  he. 

"Well,  you  needn't  mind  me.  I'm  jest  a 
plain,  sensible  woman,"  replied  Miss  Denni- 
han.  "  I  don't  want  to  see  no  feller-critter 
starve." 

Jim  writhed  in  the  blankets.  "  I  didn't 
s'pose  you  could  stay  all  day,"  he  ventured. 
68 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  I  kin  stay  till  I  mend  all  your  garmints 
and  tidy  up  this  here  cabin,"  she  announced, 
calmly.  "  So  let  your  mind  rest  easy."  She 
meant  to  see  that  child  if  it  took  till  evening 
to  do  so. 

"  Maybe  I  can  go  to  sleep  again  and  dream 
I'm  dead,"  said  Jim,  in  growing  despair.  - 

"  If  you  kin,  and  me  around,  you  can  beat 
brother  John  all  to  cream,"  she  responded, 
smoothing  out  the  mended  overalls  and  lay- 
ing them  down  on  a  stool.  "Now  you  kin 
give  me  your  shirt." 

Jim  galvanically  gathered  the  blankets  in 
a  tightened  noose  about  his  neck. 

"Hold  on!"  he  said.  "Hold  on!  This 
shirt  is  a  bran'-new  article,  and  you'd  spoil  it 
if  you  come  within  twenty-five  yards  of  it 
with  a  needle." 

"Where's  your  old  one?"  she  demanded, 
atilt  for  something  more  to  repair.  Her 
gaze  searched  the  bunks  swiftly,  and  Jim 
was  sure  she  was  looking  for  the  little  man 
behind  him .  ' '  Where '  s  your  old  one  went  ? ' ' 
she  repeated. 

"  I  turned  it  over  on  a  friend  of  mine," 
69 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

drawled  Jim,  who  meant  he  had  deftly 
reversed  it  on  himself.  "It's  a  poor  shirt 
that  won't  work  both  ways." 

"Ain't  there  nuthin'  more  I  kin  mend?" 
she  asked. 

"  Not  unless  it's  somethin'  of  Doc's  down 
to  your  lovely  little  home." 

"Oh,  I  ain't  agoin'  to  go,  if  that's  what 
you're  drivin'  at,"  she  answered,  as  she 
swiftly  assembled  the  soiled  utensils  of  the 
cuisine.  "I'll  tidy  up  this  here  pig-pen  if  it 
takes  a  week,  and  you  kin  hop  up  and  come 
down  easy." 

"I  wouldn't  have  you  go  for  nothing," 
drawled  Jim,  squirming  with  abnormal  im- 
patience to  be  up  and  doing.  "Angel's  visits 
are  comin'  fewer  and  fewer  in  a  box  every 
day." 

"That's  bogus,"  answered  the  lady.  "I 
sense  your  oilin'  me  over.  You  git  up  and 
go  and  git  a  fresh  pail  of  water." 

"  I'd  like  to,"  Jim  said,  convincingly,  "but 
the  only  time  I  ever  broke  my  arm  was  when 
I  went  out  for  a  bucket  of  water  before 
breakfast." 

70 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"You  ain't  agoin'  is  what  you  mean,  with 
all  them  come-a-long-way -round  excuses," 
she  conjectured.  "You've  got  the  name  of 
bein'  the  laziest- jointed,  mos'  shiftless  man 
into  camp." 

"Wai,"  drawled  the  helpless  miner,  "a 
town  without  a  horrible  example  is  deader 
than  the  spikes  in  Adam's  coffin.  And  the 
next  best  thing  to  being  a  livin'  example  is 
to  hang  around  the  house  where  one  of  'em 
stays  in  his  bunk  all  mornin'." 

"If  that's  another  of  them  underhanded 
hints  of  your'n,  you  might  as  well  save  your 
breath,"  she  replied.  "I'll  go  and  git  the 
water  myself,  fer  them  dishes  is  goin'  to  git 
cleaned." 

She  took  up  the  bucket  at  once.     Outside, 
the  sounds  of  some  one  scooting  rapidly  away* 
brought  to  Jim  a  thought  of  Keno's  recently 
demonstrated  presence  of  mind. 

Cautiously  sitting  up  in  the  berth,  so  soon 
as  Miss  Doc  had  disappeared  with  the  pail, 
he  hurriedly  drew  on  his  boots.  A  sound 
of  returning  footsteps  came  to  his  startled 
ears.  He  leaped  back  up  in  the  bunk,  boots 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

and  all,  and  covered  himself  with  the  blanket, 
to  the  startlement  of  the  timid  little  chap, 
who  was  sitting  there  to  watch  develop- 
ments. Both  drew  down  as  Miss  Doc  re- 
appeared in  the  door. 

"  I  might  as  well  tote  a  kettleful,  too,"  she 
said,  and  taking  that  soot-plated  article  from 
its  hook  in  the  chimney  she  once  more 
started  for  the  spring. 

This  time,  like  a  guilty  burglar,  old  Jim 
crept  out  to  the  door.  Then  with  one  quick 
resolve  he  caught  up  his  trousers,  and  snatch- 
ing his  pale  little  guest  from  the  berth,  flung 
a  blanket  about  them,  sneaked  swiftly  out 
of  the  cabin,  stole  around  to  its  rear,  and 
ran  with  long  -  legged  awkwardness  down 
through  a  shallow  ravine  to  the  cover  of  a 
huge  heap  of  bowlders,  where  he  paused  to 
finish  his  toilet. 

"Hoot!  Hoot!"  sounded  furtively  from 
somewhere  near.  Then  Keno  came  ducking 
towards  him  from  below,  with  Tintoretto  in 
his  wake,  so  rampantly  glad  in  his  puppy 
heart  that  he  instantly  climbed  on  the 
timid  little  Skeezucks,  sitting  for  conven- 
72 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

ience  on  the  earth,  and  bowled  him  head 
over  heels. 

"  Here,  pup,  you  abate  yourself,"  said  Jim. 
"Be  solemnly  glad  and  let  it  go  at  that." 
And  he  took  up  the  gasping  little  chap,  whose 
doll  was,  as  ever,  clasped  fondly  to  his 
heart. 

"How'd  you  make  it?"  inquired  Keno. 
"  Has  she  gone  for  good?" 

"No,  she's  gone  for  water,"  answered  the 
miner,  ruefully.  "She's  set  on  cleanin'  up 
the  cabin.  I'll  bet  when  she's  finished  we'll 
have  to  pan  the  gravel  mighty  careful  to 
find  even  a  color  of  our  once  happy  home." 

"  Well,  you  got  away,  anyhow,"  said  Keno, 
consolingly.  "You  can't  have  your  cake  and 
eat  it  too." 

"No,  that's  the  one  nasty  thing  about 
cake,"  said  Jim.  He  sat  on  a  rock  and 
addressed  the  wondering  little  pilgrim,  who 
was  watching  his  face  with  baby  gravity. 
" Did  she  scare  the  boy?"  he  asked.  "Is  he 
gittin'  hungry?  Does  pardner  want  some 
breakfast?" 

The  little  fellow  nodded. 
73 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"What  would  little  Skeezucks  like  old 
brother  Jim  to  make  for  breakfast?" 

The  quaint  bit  of  a  man  drew  a  trifle 
closer  to  the  rough  old  coat  and  timidly 
answered : 

"Bwead— an'— milk." 

The  two  men  started  mildly. 

"By  jinks!"  said  the  awe-smitten  Keno. 
"By  jinks!— talkin'!" 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  Jim,  suppressing  his 
excitement.  "Bread  and  milk?"  he  repeat- 
ed. "Just  bread  and  milk.  You  poor  little 
shaver!  Wai,  that's  as  easy  as  oyster  stew 
or  apple -dumplin'.  Baby  want  anything 
else?" 

The  small  boy  shook  a  negative. 

"  By  jinks  S"  said  Keno,  as  before.  "  Look 
at  him  go  it!" 

"I'll  make  some  bread  to-day,  if  ever  we 
git  back  into  Eden,"  said  Jim.  "And  I'll 
make  him  a  lot  of  things.  If  only  I  had  the 
stuff  in  me  I'd  make  him  a  Noah's  ark  and 
a  train  of  cars  and  a  fat  mince-pie.  Would 
little  Skeezucks  like  a  train  of  cars?" 

Again  the  little  pilgrim  shook  his  head. 
74 


BRUWER  JIM'S  BABY 

'Then  what  more  would  the  baby  like?" 
coaxed  the  miner. 

Again  with  his  shy  little  cuddling  up  the 
wee  man  answered,  "Moey —  bwead  —  an' — 
milk." 

"By  jinks!"  repeated  the  flabbergasted 
Keno,  and  he  pulled  at  his  sleeves  with  all 
his  strength. 

"  Say,  Keno,"  said  Jim,  "  go  find  Miss  Doc's 
goat  and  milk  him  for  the  boy." 

"  Miss  Doc  may  be  home  by  now,"  ob- 
jected Keno,  apprehensively. 

"Well,  then,  sneak  up  and  see  if  she  has 
gone  off  real  mad." 

"S'posen  she  'ain't?"  Keno  promptly 
hedged.  "S'posen  she  seen  me?" 

"You've  got  all  out-doors  to  skedaddle  in, 
I  reckon." 

Keno,  however,  had  many  objections  to 
any  manner  of  venture  with  the  wily  Miss 
Dennihan.  It  took  nearly  half  an  hour  of 
argument  to  get  him  up  to  the  brow  of  the 
slope.  Then,  to  his  uncontainable  delight, 
he  beheld  the  disgusted  and  somewhat  de- 
feated Miss  Doc  more  than  half-way  down 

6  75 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

the  trail  to  Borealis,  and  making  shoe-tracks 
with  assuring  rapidity. 

"Hoot!  Hoot!"  he  called,  in  a  cautious 
utterance.  "  She's  went,  and  the  cabin  looks 
just  the  same — from  here." 

But  Jim,  when  he  came  there,  with  his 
tiny  guest  upon  his  arm,  looked  long  at  the 
well-scrubbed  floor  and  the  tidy  array  of  pots, 
pans,  plates,  and  cups. 

"  We'll  never  find  the  salt,  or  nothin',  for  a 
week,"  he  drawled.  "It  does  take  some 
people  an  awful  long  time  to  learn  not  to 
meddle  with  the  divine  order  of  things." 


CHAPTER 
VI 


THE    BELL    FOR    CHURCH 

?HAT  with  telling  little  Skeezucks 
of  all  the  things  he  meant  to 
make,  and  fondling  the  grave 
bit  of  babyhood,  and  trying  to 
work  out  the  story  of  how  he 
came  to  be  utterly  unsought  for,  deserted, 
and  parentless,  Jim  had  hardly  more  than 
time  enough  remaining,  that  day,  in  which 
to  entertain  the  visiting  men,  who  contin- 
ued to  climb  the  hill  to  the  house. 

Throughout  that  Saturday  there  was  nev- 
er more  than  fifteen  minutes  when  some  of 
the  big,  rough  citizens  of  Borealis  were  not 
on  hand,  attempting  always  to  get  the  sol- 
emn little  foundling  to  answer  some  word 
to  their  efforts  at  baby  conversation.  But 
neither  to  them,  for  the  strange  array  of 
presents  they  offered,  nor  to  Jim  himself, 
77 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

for  all  his  gentle  coaxing,  would  the  tiny 
chap  vouchsafe  the  slightest  hint  of  who  he 
was  or  whence  he  had  come. 

It  is  doubtful  if  he  knew.  By  the  hour 
he  sat  where  they  placed  him,  holding  his 
doll  with  something  more  deep  and  hungry 
than  affection,  and  looking  at  Jim  or  the 
visitors  in  his  pretty,  baby  way  of  gravity 
and  questioning. 

When  he  sat  on  old  Jim's  knee,  however, 
he  leaned  in  confidence  against  him,  and 
sighed  with  a  sweet  little  sound  of  content- 
ment, as  poignant  to  reinspire  a  certain  ec- 
stasy of  sadness  in  the  miner's  breast  as  it 
was  to  excite  an  envy  in  the  hearts  of  the 
others. 

Next  to  Jim,  he  loved  Tintoretto — that 
joyous,  irresponsible  bit  of  pup  -  wise  glad- 
ness whose  tail  was  so  utterly  inadequate 
to  express  his  enthusiasm  that  he  wagged  his 
whole  fuzzy  self  in  the  manner  of  an  awk- 
ward fish.  Never  was  the  tiny  man  seated 
with  his  doll  on  the  floor  that  the  pup  failed 
to  pounce  upon  him  and  push  him  over, 
half  a  dozen  times.  Never  did  this  happen 
78 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

that  one  of  the  men,  or  Jim  himself,  did  not 
at  once  haul  Tintoretto,  growling,  away  by 
the  tail  or  the  ear  and  restore  their  tiny 
guest  to  his  upright  position.  Never  did 
such  a  good  Samaritan  fail  to  raise  his  hand 
for  a  cuff  at  the  pup,  nor  ever  did  one  of  them 
actually  strike.  It  ended  nearly  always  in 
the  pup's  attack  on  the  hand  in  question, 
which  he  chewed  and  pawed  at  and  other- 
wise befriended  as  only  a  pup,  in  his  freedom 
from  worries  and  cares,  can  do. 

With  absolutely  nothing  prepared,  and 
with  nothing  but  promises  made  and  for- 
gotten, old  Jim  beheld  the  glory  of  Sunday 
morning  come,  with  the  bite  and  crystalline 
sunshine  of  the  season  in  the  mountain  air. 

God's  thoughts  must  be  made  in  Nevada, 
so  lofty  and  flawless  is  the  azure  sky,  so 
utterly  transparent  is  the  atmosphere,  so 
huge,  gray,  and  passionless  the  mighty  reach 
of  mountains! 

Man's  little  thought  was  expressed  in  the 
camp  of  Borealis,  which  appeared  like  a 
herd  of  small,  brown  houses,  pitifully  in- 
significant in  all  that  immensity,  and  gather- 
79 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ed  together  as  if  for  company,  trustfully 
nestling  in  the  hand  of  the  earth-mother, 
known  to  be  so  gentle  with  her  children. 
On  the  hill-sides,  smaller  mining  houses 
stood,  each  one  emphasized  by  the  blue- 
gray  heap  of  earth  and  granite — the  dump 
— formed  by  the  labors  of  the  restless  men 
who  burrowed  in  the  rock  for  precious  metal. 
The  road,  which  seemed  to  have  no  ending- 
place,  was  blazed  through  the  brush  and 
through  the  hills  in  either  direction  across 
the  miles  and  miles  of  this  land  without  a 
people.  The  houses  of  Borealis  stood  to 
right  and  left  of  this  path  through  the 
wilderness,  as  if  by  common  consent  to  let  it 
through. 

Meagre,  unknown,  unimportant  Borealis, 
with  her  threescore  men  and  one  decent 
woman,  shared,  like  the  weightiest  empire, 
in  the  smile,  the  care,  the  yearning  of  the 
ever  All- Pitiful,  greeting  the  earth  with  an- 
other perfect  day. 

Intelligence  of  what  could  be  expected,  in 
the  way  of  a  celebration  at  the  blacksmith- 
shop  of  Webber,  had  been  more  than  merely 
80 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

spread ;  it  had  almost  been  flooded  over  town. 
Long  before  the  hour  of  ten,  scheduled  by 
common  consent  for  church  to  commence, 
Webber  was  sweeping  sundry  parings  of 
horse-hoof  and  scraps  of  iron  to  either  side  of 
his  hard  earth  floor,  and  sprinkling  the  dust 
with  water  that  he  flirted  from  his  barrel. 
He  likewise  wiped  off  the  anvil  with  his 
leathern  apron,  and  making  a  fire  in  the  forge 
to  take  off  the  chill,  thrust  in  a  huge  hunk  of 
iron  to  irradiate  the  heat 

Many  of  the  denizens  of  Borealis  came  and 
laid  siege  to  the  barber-shop  as  early  as  six 
in  the  morning.  Hardly  a  man  in  the  place, 
except  Parky,  the  gambler,  had  been  dressed 
in  extravagance  so  imposing  since  the  4th  of 
July  as  was  early  apparent  in  the  street. 
Bright  new  shirts,  red,  blue,  and  even  white, 
came  proudly  to  the  front.  Trousers  were 
dropped  outside  of  boots,  and  the  boots  them- 
selves were  polished.  A  run  on  bear's-grease 
and  hair  -  oil  lent  a  shining  halo  to  nearly 
every  head  the  camp  could  boast.  Then  the 
groups  began  to  gather  near  the  open  shop 
of  the  smith. 

81 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"We'd  ought  to  have  a  bell,"  suggested 
Lufkins,  the  teamster.  "Churches  always 
ring  the  bell  to  let  the  parson  know  it's  time 
he  was  showin'  up  to  start  the  ball." 

"Well,  I'll  string  up  a  bar  of  steel,"  said 
Webber.  "You  can  get  a  crackin'  fine  lot 
of  noise  out  of  that." 

He  strung  it  up  in  a  framework  just  out- 
side the  door,  ordinarily  employed  for  hoist- 
ing heavy  wagons  from  the  earth.  Then  with 
a  hammer  he  struck  it  sharply. 

The  clear,  ringing  tone  that  vibrated  all 
through  the  hills  was  a  stirring  note  in- 
deed. So  the  bell-ringer  struck  his  steel 
again. 

"That  ain't  the  way  to  do  the  job,"  ob- 
jected Field.  "That  sounds  like  scarin'  up 
voters  at  a  measly  political  rally  " 

"  Can  you  do  it  any  better?"  said  the  smith, 
and  he  offered  his  hammer. 

"Here  comes  Doc  Dennihan,"  interrupted 
the  barkeep.  "Ask  Doc  how  it's  done.  If 
he  don't  know,  we'll  have  to  wait  for  old 
If -only  Jim  hisself." 

The  brother  of  the  tall  Miss  Doc  was  a 
82 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

small  man  with  outstanding  ears,  the  palest 
gray  eyes,  and  the  quietest  of  manners.  He 
was  not  a  doctor  of  anything,  hence  his  title. 
Perhaps  the  fact  that  the  year  before  he  had 
quietly  shot  all  six  of  the  bullets  of  his  Colt 
revolver  into  the  body  of  a  murderous  as- 
sailant before  that  distinguished  person 
could  fall  to  the  earth  had  invested  his 
townsmen  and  admirers  with  a  modest  de- 
sire to  do  him  a  titular  honor.  Howsoever 
that  might  have  been,  he  had  always  sub- 
sequently found  himself  addressed  with  sin- 
cere respect,  while  his  counsel  had  been 
sought  on  every  topic,  possible,  impossible, 
and  otherwise,  mooted  in  all  Borealis.  The 
fact  that  his  sister  was  the  "boss  of  his 
shack,"  and  that  he,  indeed,  was  a  henpecked 
man,  was  never,  by  any  slip  of  courtesy,  con- 
versationally paraded,  especially  in  his  hear- 
ing. 

Appealed  to  now  concerning  the  method 
of  ringing  the  bar  of  steel  for  worshipful  pur- 
poses, he  took  a  bite  at  his  nails  before  re- 
plying Then  he  said : 

"Well,  I'd  ring  it  a  little  bit  faster  than 
83 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

you  would  for  a  funeral  and  a  little  bit  slow- 
er than  you  would  for  a  fire." 

" That's  the  stuff!"  said  Field.  " I  know- 
ed  that  Doc  would  know." 

But  Doc  refused  them,  nevertheless,  when 
they  asked  if  he  would  deign  to  do  the  ring- 
ing himself.  Consequently  Field,  the  father 
of  the  camp,  made  a  gallant  attempt  at  the 
work,  only  to  miss  the  "bell"  with  his  ham- 
mer and  strike  himself  on  the  knee,  after 
which  he  limped  to  a  seat,  declaring  they 
didn't  need  a  bell-ringing  anyhow.  Upon 
the  blacksmith  the  duty  devolved  by  natural 
selection. 

He  rang  a  lusty  summons  from  the  steel, 
that  fetched  all  the  dressed-up  congregation 
of  the  town  hastening  to  the  scene.  Still, 
old  Jim,  the  faithful  Keno,  little  Skeezucks, 
and  Tintoretto  failed  to  appear.  A  depu- 
tation was  therefore  sent  up  the  hill,  where 
Jim  was  found  informing  his  household  that 
if  only  he  had  the  celerity  of  action  he  would 
certainly  make  a  Sunday  suit  of  clothing  for 
the  tiny  little  man.  For  himself,  he  had 
washed  and  re-turned  his  shirt,  combed  his 
84 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

hair,  and  put  on  a  better  pair  of  boots,  which 
the  pup  had  been  chewing  to  occupy  his  lei- 
sure time. 

The  small  but  impressive  procession  came 
slowly  down  the  trail  at  last,  Jim  in  the  lead, 
with  the  grave  little  foundling  on  his  arm. 

"  Boys,"  said  he,  as  at  last  he  entered  the 
dingy  shop  and  sat  his  quaint  bit  of  a  man 
on  the  anvil,  over  which  he  had  thoughtful- 
ly thrown  his  coat  —  "boys,  if  only  I'd  had 
about  fifteen  minutes  more  of  time  I'd  have 
thought  up  all  the  tricks  you  ever  saw  in  a 
church." 

The  men  filed  in,  awkwardly  taking  off 
their  hats,  and  began  to  seat  themselves  as 
best  they  could,  on  anything  they  found 
available.  Webber,  the  smith,  went  stoutly 
at  his  bellows,  and  blew  up  a  fire  that  flamed 
two  feet  above  the  forge,  fountaining  fierce- 
ly with  sparks  of  the  iron  in  the  coal,  and 
tossing  a  ruddy  light  to  the  darkest  corners 
of  the  place.  The  incense  of  labor  —  that 
homely  fragrance  of  the  smithy  all  over  the 
world — spread  fresh  and  new  to  the  very  door 
itself.  Old  Jim  edged  closer  to  the  anvil  and 
85 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

placed  his  hand  on  the  somewhat  frightened 
little  foundling,  sitting  there  so  gravely,  and 
clasping  his  doll  in  fondness  to  his  heart. 

Outside,  it  was  noted,  Field  had  halted 
the  red-headed  Keno  for  a  moment's  whis- 
pered conversation.  Keno  nodded  knowing- 
ly. Then  he  came  inside,  and,  addressing 
them  all,  but  principally  Jim,  he  said : 

"  Say,  before  we  open  up,  Miss  Doc  would 
like  to  know  if  she  kin  come." 

A  silence  fell  on  all  the  men.  Webber 
went  hurriedly  and  closed  the  ponderous 
door. 

"Wai,  she  wouldn't  be  apt  to  like  it  till 
we  get  a  little  practised  up,"  said  the  diplo- 
matic Jim,  who  knew  the  tenor  of  his  audi- 
tors. "  Tell  her  maybe  she  kin — some  other 
time." 

"This  ain't  no  regular  elemercenary  insti- 
tution," added  the  teamster. 

"  Why  not  now?"  demanded  Field.  "  Why 
can't  she  come?" 

"  Becuz,"  said  the  smith,  "  this  church  ain't 
no  place  for  a  woman,  anyhow." 

A  general  murmur  of  assent  came  from  all 
86 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

the  men  save  Field  and  Doc  Dennihan  him- 
self. 

"  Leave  the  show  commence,"  said  a  voice. 

"Start  her  up,"  said  another. 

"  Wai,  now,"  drawled  Jim,  as  he  nervously 
stroked  his  beard,  "let's  take  it  easy.  Which 
opening  do  all  you  fellers  prefer?" 

No  one  answered. 

One  man  finally  inquired,  "How  many 
kinds  is  there?" 

Jim  said,  "Wai,  there's  the  Methodist,  the 
Baptist,  the  Graeco  -  Roman,  Episcopalian, 
and — the  catch-as-catch-can." 

"Give  us  the  ketch-and-kin-ketch-as-you- 
kin,"  responded  the  spokesman. 

"Mebbe  we  ought  to  begin  with  Sunday- 
school,"  suggested  the  blacksmith.  "That 
would  sort  of  get  us  ready  for  the  real  she- 
bang." 

"How  do  you  do  it?"  inquired  Lufkins, 
the  teamster. 

"Oh,  it's  just  mostly  catechism,"  Jim  im- 
parted, sagely. 

"And  what's  catechism?"  said  Bone. 

"Catechism,"  drawled  the  miner,  "is 
87 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

where  you  ask  a  lot  of  questions  that  only 
the  children  can  answer." 

"I  know,"  responded  the  blacksmith, 
squatting  down  before  the  anvil.  "Little 
Skeezucks,  who  made  you?" 

The  quaint  little  fellow  looked  at  the  brawny 
man  timidly.  How  pale,  how  wee  he  ap- 
peared in  all  that  company,  as  he  sat  on 
the  great  lump  of  iron,  solemnly  winking 
his  big,  brown  eyes  and  clinging  to  his  make- 
shift of  a  doll! 

"Aw,  say,  give  him  something  easy,"  said 
Lufkins. 

"That's  what  they  used  to  bang  at  me," 
said  the  smith,  defending  his  position.  "  But 
I'll  ask  him  the  easiest  one  of  the  lot.  Baby 
boy,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle  way  of  his  own, 
"who  is  it  makes  everything? — who  makes 
all  the  lovely  things  in  the  world?" 

Shyly  the  tiny  man  leaned  back  on  the 
arm  he  felt  he  knew,  and  gravely,  to  the 
utter  astonishment  of  the  big,  rough  men,  in 
his  sweet  baby  utterance,  he  said : 

"  Bruv-ver— Jim." 

A  roar  of  laughter  instantly  followed,  giv- 
88 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ing  the  youngster  a  start  that  almost  shook 
him  from  his  seat. 

"  By  jinks!"  said  Keno.  "  That's  all  right. 
You  bet  he  knows." 

But  the  Sunday  -  school  programme  was 
not  again  attempted.  When  something  like 
calm  had  settled  once  more  on  the  audience, 
If-only  Jim  remarked  that  he  guessed  they 
would  have  to  quit  their  fooling  and  get 
down  to  the  business  of  church. 


CHAPTER 
VII 


THE    SUNDAY    HAPPENINGS 

"UT  to  open  the  service  when 
quiet  reigned  again  and  expecta- 
tion was  once  more  concentrated 
upon  him  afforded  something  of 
a  poser  still  to  the  lanky  old  Jim, 
elected  to  perform  the  offices  of  leading. 

"Where's  Shorty  Hobb  with  his  fiddle?" 
said  he. 

"Parky  wouldn't  leave  him  come,"  an- 
swered Bone.  "He  loaned  him  money  on 
his  vierlin,  and  he  says  he  owns  it  and  won't 
leave  him  play  in  no  church  that  ever  got 
invented." 

"  Parky,  hey?"  said  Jim,  drawlingly.  "  Wai, 
bless  his  little  home'pathic  pill  of  a  soul!" 

"He  says  he's  fed  more  poor  and  done 
more  fer  charity  than  any  man  in  town," 
informed  a  voice. 

90 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Does,  hey?"  said  the  miner.  "I'll  bet 
his  belly's  the  only  poor  thing  he  feeds 
regular.  His  hand  ain't  got  callous  cutting 
bread  for  the  orphans.  But  he  ain't  a 
subject  for  church.  If  only  I'd  'a'  known 
what  he  was  agoin'  to  do  I'd  made  a  harp. 
But  let  it  go.  We'll  start  off  with  roll-call 
and  follow  that  up  with  a  song." 

He  therefore  began  with  the  name  of 
Webber,  who  responded  "Here,"  and  pro- 
ceeding to  note  who  was  present,  he  drawled 
the  name  or  familiar  sobriquet  of  each  in 
turn,  till  all  had  admitted  they  were  per- 
sonally in  attendance. 

"Ahem,"  said  Jim,  at  the  end  of  this 
impressive  ceremony.  "Now  we'll  sing  a 
hymn.  What  hymn  do  you  fellows  pre- 
fer?" 

There  was  not  a  great  confusion  of  replies ; 
in  fact,  the  confusion  resulted  from  a  lack 
thereof. 

"As  no  one  indicates  a  preference,"  an- 
nounced the  miner,  "we'll  tackle  'Darling, 
I  am  growing  old.'  Are  there  any  objections  ? 
All  in  favor? — contrary  minded? — the  mo- 
91 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

tion  prevails.  Now,  then,  all  together — '  Dar- 
ling— Why  don't  you  all  git  in?" 

"How  does  she  go?"  inquired  Webber. 

"She  goes  like  this,"  Jim  replied,  clearing 
his  throat: 

'"Darling,  I  am  growing  o-old, 
Silver  bars  among  the  gold; 
Shine  upon — te  dum  te  dumpty — 
Far  from  the  old  folks  at  home.'  " 

"Don't  know  it,"  said  a  voice. 

"Neither  do  I." 

"Nor  I." 

"Nor  I." 

The  sheep  of  the  flock  all  followed  in  a 
chorus  of  "Nor  I's." 

"What's  the  matter  with  'Swing  Low, 
Sweet  Cheery  O'?"  inquired  Lufkins. 

"Suits  me,"  Jim  replied.     "Steam  up." 

He  and  the  teamster,  in  duet,  joined  very 
soon  by  all  the  congregation,  sang  over  and 
over  the  only  lines  they  could  conjure  back 
to  memory,  and  even  these  came  forth  in 
remarkable  variety.  For  the  greater  part, 
however,  the  rough  men  were  fairly  well 
united  on  the  simple  version: 
92 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  '  Swing  low,  sweet  cheery  O, 

Comin'  for  to  carry  me  home; 
Swing  low,  sweet  cheery  O, 

Comin'  for  to  carry  me  home.' " 

This  was  sung  no  less  than  seven  times, 
when  Jim  at  length  lifted  his  hand  for  the  end. 

"We'll  follow  this  up  with  the  Lord's 
Prayer,"  he  said. 

Laying  his  big,  freckled  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  wondering  little  pilgrim, 
seated  so  quietly  upon  the  anvil,  he  closed 
his  eyes  and  bowed  his  head.  How  thin, 
but  kindly,  was  his  rugged  face  as  the  lines 
were  softened  by  his  attitude ! 

He  began  with  hesitation.  The  prayer, 
indeed,  was  a  stumbling  towards  the  long- 
forgotten — the  wellnigh  unattainable. 

"  '  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven  .  .  . 
Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven — ' 

"Now,  hold  on,  just  a  minute,"  and  he 
paused  to  think  before  resuming  and  wiped 
his  suddenly  sweating  brow. 

"  '  Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven — 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake  .  .  . 
Give  us  our  daily  bread.  Amen.'  " 

93 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

The  men  all  sat  in  silence.  Then  Keno 
whispered,  so  loudly  that  every  one  could 
hear: 

' '  By  jinks !     I  didn't  think  he  could  do  it !' ' 

"We'll  now  have  another  hymn,"  an- 
nounced the  leader.  "There  used  to  be  one 
that  went  on  something  about,  'I'm  lost  and 
far  away  from  the  shack,  and  it's  dark,  and 
lead  me — somewhere — kindly  light.'  Any 
one  remember  the  words  all  straight?" 

"I  don't,"  replied  the  blacksmith,  "but 
I  might  come  in  on  the  chorus." 

"Seems  to  me,"  said  Bone,  "a  candle  or 
just  a  plain,  unvarnished  light,  would  'a'  went 
out.  It  must  have  bin  a  lantern." 

"Objection  well  taken,"  responded  Jim, 
gravely.  "I  reckon  I  got  it  turned  'round 
a  minute  ago.  It  was  more  like: 

"  '  Lead  me  on,  kindly  lantern, 
For  I  am  far  from  home, 
And  the  night  is  dark.' " 

"  It  don't  sound  like  a  song — not  exactly,',,' 
ventured    Lufkins.     "Why    not   give    'em 
'  Down  on  the  Swanee  River '  ? " 
94 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

' '  All  right, ' '  agreed  the ' '  parson, ' '  and  there- 
fore they  were  all  presently  singing  at  the 
one  perennial  "hymn"  of  the  heart,  univer- 
sal in  its  application,  sweetly  religious  in  its 
humanism.  They  sang  -it  with  a  woful  lack 
of  its  own  original  lines;  they  put  in  string 
on  string  of  "dum  te  dums,"  but  it  came 
from  their  better  natures  and  it  sanctified 
the  dingy  shop. 

When  it  was  ended,  which  was  not  until 
it  had  gone  through  persistent  repetitions, 
old  Jim  was  prepared  for  almost  anything. 

"  I  s'pose  you  boys  want  a  regular  sermon," 
said  he,  "and  if  only  I'd  'a'  had  the  time — 
wal,  I  won't  say  what  a  torch-light  proces- 
sion of  a  sermon  you'd  have  got,  but  I'll  do 
the  best  I  can." 

He  cleared  his  throat,  struck  an  attitude 
inseparable  from  American  elocution,  and  be- 
gan: 

"Fellow-citizens — and  ladies  and  gentle- 
men— we — we're  an  ornary  lot  of  backwoods 
fellers,  livin'  away  out  here  in  the  mountains 
and  the  brush,  but  God  Almighty  'ain't  for- 
got us,  all  the  same.  He  sent  a  little  young- 
95 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ster  once  to  put  a  heartful  of  happiness  into 
men,  and  He's  sent  this  little  skeezucks  here 
to  show  us  boys  we  ain't  shut  off  from  every- 
thing. He  didn't  send  us  no  bonanza — like 
they  say  they've  got  in  Silver  Treasury — but 
I  wouldn't  trade  the  little  kid  for  all  the 
bullion  they  will  ever  melt.  We  ain't  the 
prettiest  lot  of  ducks  I  ever  saw,  and  we  may- 
be blow  the  ten  commandants  all  over  the 
camp  with  giant  powder  once  in  a  while, 
lookin'  'round  for  gold,  but,  boys,  we  ain't 
throwed  out  complete.  We've  got  the  love 
and  pity  of  God  Almighty,  sure,  when  he  gives 
us,  all  to  ourselves,  a  little  helpless  feller  for 
to  raise.  I  know  you  boys  all  want  me  to 
thank  the  Father  of  us  all,  and  that's  what 
I  do.  And  I  hope  He'll  let  us  know  the  way 
to  give  the  little  kid  a  good  square  show,  for 
Christ's  sake.  Amen." 

The  men  would  have  listened  to  more. 
They  expected  more,  indeed,  and  waited  to 
hear  old  Jim  resume. 

"That's  about  all,"  he  said,  as  no  one 
spoke,  "except,  of  course,  we'll  sing  some 
more  of  the  hymns  and  take  up  collec- 
96 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

tion.  I  guess  we'd  better  take  collection 
first." 

The  congregation  stirred.  Big  hands  went 
down  into  pockets. 

"Who  gets  the  collection?"  queried  Field. 

Jim  drawled,  "When  it  ain't  buttons,  it 
goes  to  the  parson ;  when  it  is,  the  parson's 
wife  gits  in." 

"You  'ain't  got  no  wife,"  objected  Bone. 

"  That's  why  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  but- 
tons," sagely  answered  the  miner.  "On  the 
square,  though,  boys,  this  is  all  for  the  little 
skeezucks,  to  buy  some  genuine  milk,  from 
Miss  Doc  Dennihan's  goat." 

"What  we  goin'  to  put  our  offerin's  into?" 
asked  the  blacksmith,  as  the  boys  made 
ready  with  their  contributions.  "  They  used 
to  hand  around  a  pie-plate  when  I  was  a 
boy." 

"We'll  try  to  get  along  with  a  hat,"  re- 
sponded Jim,  "and  Keno  here  can  pass  it 
'round.  I've  often  observed  that  a  hat  is  a 
handy  thing  to  collect  things  in,  especially 
brains." 

So  the  hat  went  quickly  from  one  to  an- 
97 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

other,  sagging  more  and  more  in  the  crown 
as  it  travelled. 

The  men  had  come  forward  to  surround 
the  anvil,  with  the  tiny  little  chap  upon  its 
massive  top,  and  not  one  in  all  the  groups 
was  there  who  did  not  feel  that,  left  alone 
with  the  timid  bit  of  a  pilgrim,  he  could  get 
him  to  talking  and  laughing  in  the  briefest 
of  moments. 

The  hymns  with  which  old  Jim  had  prom- 
ised the  meeting  should  conclude  were  all 
but  forgotten.  Two  or  three  miners,  whose 
hunger  for  song  was  not  to  be  readily  ap- 
peased, kept  bringing  the  subject  to  the  fore 
again,  however,  till  at  length  they  were 
heard. 

"We're  scarin'  little  Skeezucks,  anyhow," 
said  the  brawny  smith,  once  more  reviving 
the  fire  in  the  forge. 

"  Let's  sing  '  In  the  Sweet  By  -  and  -  By, ' 
if  all  of  us  know  it,"  suggested  a  young  fel- 
low scarcely  more  than  a  lad.  "It's  awful 
easy." 

"Wai,  you  start  her  bilin',"  replied  the 
teamster. 

98 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

The  young  fellow  blushed,  but  he  nerved 
himself  to  the  point  and  sang  out,  nervously 
at  first,  and  then,  when  his  confidence  in- 
creased, in  a  clear,  ringing  tenor  of  remark- 
able purity,  recalling  the  old-time  words  that 
once  were  so  widely  known  and  treasured: 

" '  There's  a  land  that  is  fairer  than  day, 

And  by  faith  we  can  see  it  afar, 
For  the  Father  waits  over  the  way 
To  prepare  us  a  dwelling-place  there.' " 

Then  the  chorus  of  voices,  husky  from  neg- 
lect and  crude  from  lack  of  culture,  joined 
in  the  chorus,  with  a  heartiness  that  shook 
the  dingy  building : 

"'In  the  sweet  by-and-by, 

We  shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore; 
In  the  sweet  by-and-by, 

We  shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore.'  " 

They  followed  this  with  what  they  knew 
of  "Home,  Sweet  Home,"  and  so  at  last 
strolled  out  into  the  sunshine  of  the  street, 
and  surrounded  the  quaint  little  foundling, 
as  he  looked  from  one  to  another  in  baby 

99 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

gravity  and  sat  in  his  timid  way  on  the  arm 
of  "  Bruvver  Jim." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
"now  that  we've  found  that  we  can  do  the 
job  all  right,  we'll  get  up  a  Christmas  for 
little  Skeezucks  that  will  lift  the  mountains 
clean  up  off  the  earth!" 

"  Good  suggestion,"  Jim  agreed.  "  But  the 
little  feller  feels  tired  now.  I  am  goin'  to 
take  him  home." 

And  this  he  did.  But  after  lunch  no  fewer 
than  twenty  of  the  men  of  Borealis  climbed 
up  the  trail  to  get  another  look  at  the  quiet 
little  man  who  glorified  the  cabin. 

But  the  darkness  had  only  begun  to 
creep  through  the  lowermost  channels  of  the 
canyons  when  Skeezucks  fell  asleep.  By 
then  old  Jim,  the  pup,  and  Keno  were  alone 
with  the  child. 

"  Keno,  I  reckon  I'll  wander  quietly  down 
and  see  if  Doc  will  let  me  buy  a  little  milk," 
said  Jim.  "You'd  better  come  along  to  see 
that  his  sister  don't  interfere." 

Keno  expressed  his  doubts  immediately, 
not  only  as  to  the  excellence  of  goat's  milk 
100 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

generally,  but  likewise  as  to  any  good  that 
he  could  do  by  joining  Jim  in  the  enterprise 
suggested. 

"Anyway,"  he  concluded,  " Doc  has  may- 
be went  on  shift  by  this  time.  He's  workin' 
nights  this  week  again." 

Jim,  however,  prevailed.  "You  don't  get 
another  bite  of  grub  in  this  shack,  nor  an- 
other look  at  the  little  boy,  if  you  don't 
come  ahead  and  do  your  share." 

Therefore  they  presently  departed,  shut- 
ting Tintoretto  in  the  cabin  to  "watch." 

In  half  an  hour,  having  interviewed  Doc 
Dennihan  himself  on  the  hill  -  side  quite 
removed  from  his  cabin,  the  two  worthies 
came  climbing  up  towards  their  home  once 
again,  Jim  most  carefully  holding  in  his 
hands  a  large  tin  cup  with  half  an  inch  of 
goat's  milk  at  the  bottom. 

While  still  a  hundred  yards  from  the  house, 
they  were  suddenly  startled  by  the  mad 
descent  upon  them  of  the  pup  they  had 
recently  left  behind. 

"  Huh !  you  young  galoot,"  said  Jim.  "  You 
got  out,  I  see!" 

101 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

When  he  entered  the  cabin  it  was  dark. 
Keno  lighted  the  candle  and  Jim  put  his 
cup  on  the  table.  Then  he  went  to  the 
berth  to  awaken  the  tiny  foundling  and  give 
him  a  supper  of  bread  and  milk. 

Keno  heard  him  make  a  sound  as  of  one 
in  terrible  pain. 

The  miner  turned  a  face,  deadly  white, 
towards  the  table. 

"Keno,"  he  cried,  "he's  gone!" 


CHAPTER 
VIII 


OLD  JIM    DISTRAUGHT 

'OR  a  moment  Keno  failed  to 
comprehend.  Then  for  a  second 
after  that  he  refused  to  believe. 
He  ran  to  the  bunk  where  Jim 
was  desperately  turning  down 
the  blankets  and  made  a  quick  exam- 
ination of  that  as  well  as  of  the  other 
beds. 

They  were  empty. 

Hastening  across  the  cabin,  the  two  men 
searched  in  the  berths  at  the  farther  end 
with  parental  eagerness,  but  all  in  vain,  the 
pup  meantime  dodging  between  their  legs 
and  chewing  at  their  trousers. 

"Tintoretto!"  said  Jim,  in  a  flash  of  de- 
duction.   "  He  must  have  got  out  when  some- 
body opened  the   door.     Somebody's   been 
here  and  stole  my  little  boy!" 
103 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"By  jinks!"  said  Keno,  hauling  at  his 
sleeves  in  excess  of  emotion.  "But  who?" 

"Come  on,"  answered  Jim,  distraught  and 
wild.  "Come  down  to  camp!  Somebody's 
playin'  us  a  trick!" 

Again  they  shut  the  pup  inside,  and  then 
they  fairly  ran  down  the  trail,  through  the 
darkness,  to  the  town  below. 

A  number  of  men  were  standing  in  the 
street,  among  them  the  teamster  and  Field, 
the  father  of  Borealis.  They  were  joking, 
laughing,  wasting  time. 

"  Boys,"  cried  Jim,  as  he  hastened  towards 
the  group,  "has  any  one  seen  little  Skee- 
zucks?  Some  one's  played  a  trick  and  took 
him  off!  Somebody's  been  to  the  cabin  and 
stole  my  little  boy!" 

"Stole  him?"  said  Field.  "Why,  where 
was  you  and  Keno?" 

"Down  to  Doc's  to  get  some  milk.  He 
wanted  bread  and  milk,"  Jim  explained, 
in  evident  anguish.  "You  fellows  might 
have  seen,  if  any  one  fetched  him  down  the 
trail.  You're  foolin'.  Some  of  you  took 
him  for  a  joke!" 

104 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"It  wouldn't  be  no  joke,"  answered  Luf- 
kins,  the  teamster.  "  We  'ain't  got  him,  Jim, 
on  the  square." 

."Of  course  we  'ain't  got  him.  We  'ain't 
took  him  for  no  joke,"  said  Field.  "  Nobody'd 
'take  him  away  like  that." 

"Why  don't  we  ring  the  bar  of  steel  we 
used  for  a  bell,"  suggested  one  of  the  miners. 
"That  would  fetch  the  men — all  who  'ain't 
gone  back  on  shift." 

"Good  idea,"  said  Field.  "But  I  ought 
to  get  back  home  and  eat  some  dinner." 

He  did  not,  however,  depart.  That  Jim 
was  in  a  fever  of  excitement  and  despair 
they  could  all  of  them  see.  He  hastened 
ahead  of  the  group  to  the  shop  of  Webber, 
and  taking  a  short  length  of  iron  chain, 
which  he  found  on  the  earth,  he  slashed  and 
beat  at  the  bar  of  steel  with  frantic  strength. 

The  sharp,  metallic  notes  rang  out  with 
every  stroke.  The  bar  was  swaying  like  a 
pendulum.  Blow  after  blow  the  man  de- 
livered, filling  all  the  hollows  of  the  hills  with 
wild  alarm. 

Out  of  saloons  and  houses  men  came  saun- 
105 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

tering,  or  running,  according  to  the  ten- 
sion of  their  nerves.  Many  thought  some 
house  must  be  afire.  At  least  thirty  men 
were  presently  gathered  at  the  place  of  sum- 
mons. With  five  or  six  informers  to  tell  the 
news  of  Jim's  bereavement,  all  were  soon 
aware  of  what  was  making  the  trouble.  But 
none  had  seen  the  tiny  foundling  since  they 
bade  him  good-bye  in  the  charge  of  Jim 
himself. 

"Are  you  plum  dead  sure  he's  went?" 
said  Webber,  the  smith.  "  Did  you  look  all 
over  the  cabin?" 

"Everywhere,"  said  Jim.     "He's  gone!" 

"Wai,  maybe  some  mystery  got  him," 
suggested  Bone.  "Jim,  you  don't  suppose 
his  father,  or  some  one  who  lost  him,  come 
and  nabbed  him  while  you  was  gone?" 

They  saw  old  Jim  turn  pale  in  the  light 
that  came  from  across  the  street. 

Keno  broke  in  with  an  answer. 

"  By  jinks !  Jim  was  his  mother !  Jim  had 
more  good  rights  to  the  little  feller  than  any- 
body, livin'  or  dead!" 

"You  bet!"  agreed  a  voice. 
1 06 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Jim  spoke  with  difficulty. 

"If  any  one  did  that"  —he  faltered  — 
"why,  boys,  he  never  should  have  let  me 
find  him  in  the  brush." 

"Are  you  plum  dead  sure  he's  went?"  in- 
sisted the  blacksmith,  whom  the  news  had 
somewhat  stunned. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  fellows  might  have 
played  a  joke — taken  him  off  to  see  me  run 
around,"  said  Jim,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  a 
smile.  "'Ain't  you  got  him,  boys — all  the 
time?" 

"Aw,  no,  he'd  be  too  scared,"  said  Bone. 
"  We  know  he'd  be  scared  of  any  one  of  us." 

"It  ain't  so  much  that,"  said  Field,  "but 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  his  father,  or  some 
other  feller  just  as  good,  came  and  took  him 
off." 

"Of  course  his  father  would  have  the 
right,"  said  Jim,  haltingly,  "but — I  wish  he 
hadn't  let  me  find  him  first.  You  fellows 
are  sure  you  ain't  a-foolin'?" 

"We  couldn't  have  done  it — not  on  Sun- 
day—  after   church,"    said    Lufkins.     "No, 
Jim,  we  wouldn't  fool  that  way." 
s  107 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"You  don't  s'pose  that  Parky  might  have 
took  him,  out  of  spite?"  said  Jim,  eager  for 
hope  in  any  direction  whatsoever. 

"No!  He  hates  kids  worse  than  pizen," 
said  the  barkeep,  decisively.  "He's  been 
a-gamblin'  since  four  this  afternoon,  dealin' 
faro-bank." 

"We  could  go  and  search  every  shack  in 
camp,"  suggested  a  listener. 

"What  would  be  the  good  of  that?"  in- 
quired Field.  "  If  the  father  came  and  took 
the  little  shaver,  do  you  think  he'd  hide  him 
'round  here  in  somebody's  cabin?" 

The  blacksmith  said:  "It  don't  seem  as  if 
you  could  have  looked  all  over  the  house. 
He's  such  a  little  bit  of  a  skeezucks." 

Keno  told  him  how  they  had  searched  in 
every  bunk,  and  how  the  milk  was  waiting 
on  the  table,  and  how  the  pup  had  escaped 
when  some  one  opened  the  door. 

The  men  all  volunteered  to  go  up  on  the 
hill  with  torches  and  lanterns,  to  see  if  the 
trail  of  the  some  one  who  had  done  this  deed 
might  not  be  discovered.  Accordingly,  the 
lights  were  secured  and  the  party  climbed 
108 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

the  slope.  All  of  them  entered  the  cabin  and 
heard  the  explanation  of  exactly  how  old  Jim 
had  found  that  the  little  chap  was  gone. 

Webber  was  one  of  the  number.  To  sat- 
isfy his  incredulous  mind,  he  searched  every 
possible  and  impossible  lurking-place  where 
an  object  as  small  as  a  ball  could  be  con- 
cealed. 

"I  guess  he's  went,"  he  agreed,  at  last. 

Then  out  on  the  hill-side  went  the  crowd, 
and  breaking  up  in  groups,  each  with  its  lan- 
terns and  torches,  they  searched  the  rock- 
strewn  slope  in  every  direction.  The  wa- 
vering lights  went  hither  and  yon,  revealing 
now  the  faces  of  the  anxious  men,  and  then 
prodigious  features  of  a  clump  of  granite 
bowlders,  jewelled  with  mica,  sparkling  in  the 
light. 

Intensely  the  darkness  hedged  the  groups 
about.  The  sounds  of  their  voices  and  of 
rocks  that  crunched  beneath  their  boots 
alone  disturbed  the  great,  eternal  calm;  but 
the  search  was  vain.  The  searchers  had 
known  it  could  be  of  no  avail,  for  the  puny 
foot  of  man  could  have  made  no  track  upon 
109 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

f 
the  slanted  floor  of  granite  fragments  that 

constituted  the  hill-side.     It  was  something 
to  do  for  Jim,  and  that  was  all. 

At  length,  about  midnight,  it  came  to  an 
end.  They  lingered  on  the  slope,  however, 
to  offer  their  theories,  invariably  hopeful, 
and  to  say  that  Monday  morning  would  ac- 
complish miracles  in  the  way  of  setting  every- 
thing aright. 

Many  were  supperless  when  all  save  Jim 
and  little  Keno  had  again  returned  to  Bore- 
alis  and  left  the  two  alone  at  the  cabin. 

"  We'll  save  the  milk  in  case  he  might  come 
home  by  any  chance,"  said  the  gray  old  min- 
er, and  he  placed  the  cup  on  a  shelf  against 
the  wall. 

In  silence  he  cooked  the  humble  dinner, 
which  he  placed  on  the  table  in  front  of  his 
equally  voiceless  companion.  Keno  and  the 
pup  went  at  the  meal  with  unpoetic  vigor, 
but  Jim  could  do  no  eating.  He  went  to  the 
door  from  time  to  time  to  listen.  Then  he 
once  more  searched  the  blankets  in  the  bunks. 

"Wai,  anyway,"  said  he,  at  last,  "he 
took  his  doll." 

no 


CHAPTER 
IX 


THE    GUILTY    MISS    DOC 

'HAT  Keno  and  Tintoretto  should 
sleep  was  inevitable,  after  the 
way  they  had  eaten.  Old  Jim 
then  took  his  lantern  and  went 
out  alone.  Perhaps  his  tiny 
foundling  had  wandered  away  by  himself,  he 
thought.  Searching  and  searching,  up  hill 
and  down,  lighting  his  way  through  the 
brush,  the  miner  went  on  and  on,  to  leave  no 
spot  un visited.  He  was  out  all  night,  wan- 
dering here  and  climbing  there  on  the  hill- 
side, pausing  now  and  again  to  listen  and  to 
look  about,  almost  expectantly,  where  naught 
could  be  seen  save  the  mighty  procession  of 
the  stars,  and  naught  could  be  heard  save  the 
ringing  of  the  inter-stellar  silence  as  the  earth 
swung  steadily  onward  in  her  course. 

Hour  after  hour  of  the  darkness  went  by 
in 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

and  found  him  searching  still.  With  the 
coming  of  the  morning  he  suddenly  grasped 
at  a  startling  thought. 

Miss  Doc !  —  Miss  Dennihan !  She  must 
have  stolen  his  foundling! 

Her  recent  climb  to  his  cabin,  her  protract- 
ed stay,  her  baffled  curiosity  -  -  these  were 
ample  explanation  for  the  trick  she  must 
have  played!  How  easily  she  might  have 
watched  the  place,  slipped  in  the  moment 
the  cabin  was  left  unguarded,  and  carried 
off  the  little  pilgrim! 

Jim  knew  she  would  glory  in  such  a  re- 
venge. She  probably  cared  not  a  whit  for 
the  child,  but  to  score  against  himself,  for 
defeating  her  purpose  when  she  called,  she 
would  doubtless  have  gone  to  any  possible 
length. 

The  miner  was  enraged,  but  a  second  later 
a  great  gush  of  thankfulness  and  relief  surged 
upward  in  his  heart.  At  least,  the  little  man 
would  not  have  been  out  all  night  in  the 
hills!  Then  growing  sick  in  turn,  he  thought 
this  explanation  would  be  too  good  to  be 
true.  It  was  madness — only  a  hope!  He 

112 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

clung  to  it  tenaciously,  however,  then  gave 
it  up,  only  to  snatch  it  back  again  in  desper- 
ation as  he  hastened  home  to  his  cabin. 

"Keno,  wake  up,"  he  cried  to  his  lodger, 
shaking  him  briskly  by  the  shoulder.  "  Keno ! 
Keno!" 

"What's  the  matter?  Time  for  break- 
fast?" asked  Keno,  drowsily,  risking  only 
half  an  eye  with  which  to  look  about.  "  Why 
not  call  me  gently?" 

"Get  up!"  commanded  Jim.  "I  have 
thought  of  where  little  Skeezucks  has  gone!" 

"Where?"  cried  Keno,  suddenly  aroused. 
"  I'll  go  and  kill  the  cuss  that  took  him  off!" 

"Miss  Doc!"  replied  the  miner.  "Miss 
Doc!" 

"Miss  Doc?"  repeated  Keno,  weakly,  paus- 
ing in  the  act  of  pulling  on  his  boots.  "  By 
jinks!  Say,  I  couldn't  kill  no  woman,  Jim. 
How  do  you  know?" 

"Stands  to  reason,"  Jim  replied,  and  ex- 
plaining his  premises  rapidly  and  clearly,  he 
punched  poor  Keno  into  something  almost 
as  good  as  activity. 

"By  jinks!  I  can't  believe  it,"  said  Keno, 
"3 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

who  did  believe  it  with  fearful  thoroughness. 
"Jim,  she  wouldn't  dare,  an'  us  two  fellers 
liable  to  bust  her  house  to  pieces." 

"Don't  you  know  she'd  be  dead  sure  to 
play  a  trick  like  that?"  said  Jim,  who  could 
not  bear  to  listen  to  a  doubt.  "  Don't  you  see 
she  couldn't  do  anything  else,  bein'  a  woman  ?" 

"Maybe — maybe,"  answered  Keno,  with  a 
sort  of  acquiescence  that  is  deadlier  than  an 
out-and-out  denial.  "  But — I  wouldn't  want 
to  see  you  disappointed,  Jim  —  I  wouldn't 
want  to  see  it." 

"Wai,  you  come  on,  that's  all,"  said  Jim. 
"If  it  ain't  so — I  want  to  know  it  early  in 
the  day!" 

"But  —  what  can  I  do?"  still  objected 
Keno.  "  Wouldn't  you  rather  I'd  stay  home 
and  git  the  breakfast?" 

"We  don't  want  any  breakfast  if  she  'ain't 
got  the  little  boy.  You  come  on!" 

Keno  came ;  so  did  Tintoretto.  The  three 
went  down  the  slope  as  the  sun  looked  over 
the  rim  of  the  mountains.  The  chill  and 
crispness  of  the  air  seemed  a  part  of  those 
early  rays  of  light. 

114 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

In  sight  of  the  home  of  Doc  and  Miss 
Dennihan,  they  paused  and  stepped  behind 
a  fence,  for  the  door  of  the  neat  little  house 
was  open  and  the  lady  herself  was  sweeping 
off  the  steps,  with  the  briskness  inseparable 
from  her  character. 

She  presently  disappeared,  but  the  door, 
to  Jim's  relief,  was  left  standing  open.  He 
proceeded  boldly  on  his  course. 

"  Now,  I'll  stay  outside  and  hold  the  pup," 
said  Keno. 

"  If  anything  goes  wrong,  you  let  the  pup 
go  loose,"  instructed  Jim.  "He  might  dis- 
tract her  attention." 

Thereupon  he  went  in  at  the  creaking  little 
garden  gate,  and,  leaving  it  open,  knocked 
on  the  door  and  entered  the  house.  He  had 
hardly  more  than  come  within  the  room  when 
Miss  Doc  appeared  from  her  kitchen. 

"Mercy  in  us,  if  you  ain't  up  before  your 
breakfast!"  she  said.  "Whatever  do  you 
want  in  my  house  at  this  time  of  mornin',  you 
Jim  lazy-joints?" 

"You  know  what  I  came  for,"  said  Jim. 
"  I  want  my  little  boy." 

"5 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Your  little  boy?"  she  echoed.  "I  never 
knowed  you  had  no  little  boy.  You  never 
said  nuthin'  'bout  no  little  boy  when  I  was 
up  to  your  cabin." 

Jim's  heart,  despite  his  utmost  efforts  to 
be  hopeful,  was  sinking. 

"You  know  I  found  a  little  kid,"  he  said, 
less  aggressively.  "And  some  one's  taken 
him  off  —  stole  him  —  that's  what  they've 
done,  and  I'll  bet  a  bit  it's  you!" 

"Wai,  if  I  ever!"  cried  Miss  Doc,  her  eyes 
lighting  up  dangerously.  "  Did  you  come 
down  here  to  tell  me  right  to  my  face  I  stole 
from  your  dirty  little  shanty?" 

"  I  want  my  little  boy,"  said  Jim. 

"Wai,  you  git  out  of  my  house,"  com- 
manded Miss  Doc.  "  If  John  was  up  you'd 
never  dare  to  stay  here  another  minute. 
You  clear  out!  A-callin'  me  a  thief!" 

Jim's  hope  collapsed  in  his  bosom.  The 
taking  of  the  child  he  could  gladly  have 
forgiven.  Any  excuse  would  have  satis- 
fied his  anger — anything  was  bearable,  save 
to  know  that  he  had  come  on  a  false 
belief. 

116 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

"Miss  Doc,"  he  said,  " I  only  want  the  lit- 
tle kid.  Don't  say  he  ain't  here." 

"Tellin'  me  I'd  steal!"  she  said,  in  her  in- 
dignation. "You  shiftless,  good -for- noth- 
in' — "  But  she  left  her  string  of  epithets  in- 
completed,  all  on  account  of  an  interruption 
in  the  shape  of  Tintoretto. 

Keno  had  made  up  his  mind  that  every- 
thing was  going  wrong,  and  he  had  loosed 
the  pup. 

Bounding  in  at  the  door,  that  enthusias- 
tic bit  of  awkwardness  and  good  intentions 
jumped  on  the  front  of  Miss  Doc's  dress, 
gave  a  lick  at  her  hand,  scooted  back  to 
his  master,  and  wagged  himself  against  the 
tables,  chairs,  and  walls  with  clumsy  dex- 
terity. Sniffing  and  bumping  his  nose  on 
the  carpet,  he  pranced  through  the  door  to 
the  kitchen. 

Almost  immediately  Jim  heard  the  sound 
of  something  being  bowled  over  on  the  floor 
— something  being  licked — something  vainly 
striving  with  the  over-affectionate  pup,  and 
then  there  came  a  coo  of  joy. 

"There  he  is!"  cried  Jim,  and  before  Miss 
117 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

Doc  could  lift  so  much  as  hand  or  voice  to 
restrain  him,  he  had  followed  Tintoretto  and 
fallen  on  his  knees  by  the  side  of  his  lost  lit- 
tle foundling,  who  was  helplessly  straddled 
by  the  pup,  and  who,  for  the  first  time, 
dropped  his  doll  as  he  held  out  his  tiny 
arms  to  be  taken. 

"My  little  boy!"  said  the  miner — "my  lit- 
tle boy!"  and  taking  both  doll  and  little  man 
in  his  arms  he  held  them  in  passionate  ten- 
derness against  his  heart. 

"  How  da'st  you  come  in  my  kitchen  with 
your  dirty  boots?"  demanded  Miss  Dennihan, 
in  all  her  unabashed  pugnacity. 

"It's  all  right,  little  Skeezucks,"  said  Jim 
to  the  timid  little  pilgrim,  who  was  clinging 
to  his  collar  with  all  the  strength  of  a  baby's 
new  confidence  and  hope.  "Did  you  think 
old  brother  Jim  was  lost?  Did  you  want  to 
go  home  and  get  some  bread  and  milk?" 

"  He  ain't  a  bit  hungry.  He  didn't  want 
nuthin'  to  eat,"  said  Miss  Doc,  in  self-de- 
fence. "And  you  ain't  no  more  fit  to  have 
that  there  child  than  a — " 

"Goin'  to  have  him  all  the  same,"  old 
118 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Jim  interrupted,  starting  for  the  door.  "  You 
stole  him — that's  what  you  did!" 

"I  didn't  do  no  sech  thing,"  said  the 
housewife.  "I  jest  nachelly  borrowed  him 
— jest  for  over  night.  And  now  you've  got 
him,  I  hope  you're  satisfied.  And  you  kin 
jest  clear  out  o'  my  house,  do  you  hear? 
And  I  can't  scrub  and  sweep  too  soon 
where  your  lazy,  dirty  old  boots  has  been 
on  the  floor!" 

"Wai,"  drawled  Jim,  " I  can't  throw  away 
these  boots  any  too  soon,  neither.  I  wouldn't 
wear  a  pair  of  boots  which  had  stepped  on 
any  floor  of  yours." 

He  therefore  left  the  house  at  once,  even 
as  the  lady  began  her  violent  sweeping. 
Interrupting  Keno's  mad  chortles  of  joy  at 
sight  of  little  Skeezucks,  Jim  gave  him  the 
tiny  man  for  a  moment's  keeping,  and,  tak- 
ing off  his  boots,  threw  them  down  before 
Miss  Dennihan's  gate  in  extravagant  pride. 

Then  once  more  he  took  his  little  man  on 

his  arm  and  started  away.   But  when  he  had 

walked  a  half-dozen  rods,  on  the  rocks  that 

indented  the  tender  soles  of  his  stockinged 

119 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

feet,  he  was  stepping  with  gingerly  uncer- 
tainty. He  presently  came  to  a  halt.  The 
ground  was  not  only  lumpy,  it  was  cold. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  he  slowly  drawled, 
"  in  this  little  world  there's  about  one  chance 
in  a  million  for  a  man  to  make  a  President 
of  himself,  and  about  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  chances  in  a  thousand  for  him 
to  make  a  fool  of  himself." 

"That's  what  I  thought,"  said  Keno. 

"All  the  same,  if  only  I  had  the  resolution 
I'd  leave  them  boots  there  forever!" 

"What  for?"  said  Keno. 

"Wai,"  drawled  Jim,  "  a  man  can't  always 
tell  he  comes  of  a  proud  family  by  the  cut 
of  his  clothes.  But,  Keno,  you  ain't  troubled 
with  pride,  so  you  go  back  and  fetch  me  the 
boots." 

Then,  when  he  presently  drew  his  cow- 
hide casings  on,  he  sat  for  a  moment  en- 
joying the  comfort  of  those  soles  beneath 
his  feet.  For  the  time  that  they  halted 
where  they  were,  he  held  his  rescued  little 
boy  to  his  heart  in  an  ecstasy  such  as  he 
never  had  dreamed  could  be  given  to  a  man. 
120 


CHAPTER 
X 


PREPARATIONS    FOR  CHRISTMAS 

?HEN  the  word  spread  'round  that 
Jim  and  the  quaint  little  found- 
ling were  once  more  united,  the 
story  of  the  episode  at  Miss  Doc's 
home  necessarily  followed  to 
make  the  tale  complete.  Immensely  relieved 
and  grateful,  to  know  that  no  dire  calamity 
had  befallen  the  camp's  first  and  only  child, 
the  rough  men  nevertheless  lost  no  time  in 
conceiving  the  outcome  to  be  fairly  amusing. 
"You  kin  bet  that  Doc  was  awake  all  the 
time,  and  listenin',  as  long  as  Jim  was  there," 
said  Bone,  "but  six  yoke  of  oxen  couldn't  'a' 
dragged  his  two  eyes  open,  or  him  out  of  bed, 
to  mingle  in  the  ceremonies." 

To  prevent  a  recurrence  of  similar  descents 
upon  his  household,  Jim  arranged  his  plans 
in  such  a  manner  that  the  timid  little  Skee- 

121 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

zucks  should  never  again  be  left  alone.  In- 
deed, the  gray  old  miner  hardly  ever  per- 
mitted the  little  chap  to  be  out  of  his  sight. 
Hour  by  hour,  day  by  day,  he  remained  at 
his  cabin,  playing  with  the  child,  telling  him 
stories,  asking  him  questions,  making  him 
promises  of  all  the  wonderful  toys  and  play- 
things he  would  manufacture  soon. 

Once  in  a  while  the  little  fellow  spoke. 
That  utterance  came  with  difficulty  to  his 
lips  was  obvious.  He  must  always  have  been 
a  silent,  backward  little  fellow,  and  sad,  as 
children  rarely  become  at  an  age  so  tender. 
Of  who  or  what  he  was  he  gave  no  clew. 
He  seemed  to  have  no  real  name,  to  remem- 
ber no  parents,  to  feel  no  confidence  in  any- 
thing save  "  Bruvver  Jim"  and  Tintoretto. 

In  the  course  of  a  week  a  number  of  names 
had  been  suggested  for  the  tiny  bit  of  a 
stranger,  but  none  could  suit  the  taste  of 
Jim.  He  waited  still  for  a  truant  inspira- 
tion, and  meanwhile  "  Skeezucks"  came  daily 
more  and  more  into  use  among  the  men  of 
Borealis. 

It  was  during  this  time  that  a  parcel  ar- 

122 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

rived  at  the  cabin  from  the  home  of  Miss 
Doc.  It  was  fetched  to  the  hill  by  Doc 
himself,  who  said  it  was  sent  by  his  sister. 
He  departed  at  once,  to  avoid  the  discussion 
which  he  felt  its  contents  might  occasion. 

On  tearing  it  open  old  Jim  was  not  a  little 
amazed  to  discover  a  lot  of  little  garments, 
fashioned  to  the  size  of  tiny  Skeezucks,  with 
all  the  skill  which  lies— at  nature's  second 
thought  —  in  the  hand  of  woman.  Neat 
little  undergarments,  white  little  frocks,  a 
something  that  the  miner  felt  by  instinct 
was  a  "nightie,"  and  two  pairs  of  the  small- 
est of  stockings  rewarded  the  overhauling 
of  the  package,  and  left  Jim  momentarily 
speechless. 

"By  jinks!"  said  Keno,  pulling  down  his 
sleeves,  "  them  are  awful  small  fer  us!" 

"If  only  I  had  the  time,"  drawled  Jim, 
"  I'd  take  'em  back  to  Miss  Doc  and  throw 
them  in  her  yard.  We  don't  need  anybody 
sewin'  for  little  Skeezucks.  I  was  meanin' 
to  make  him  somethin'  better  than  these 
myself." 

"Oh!"  said  Keno.  "Well,  we  could  give 
9  123 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

'em  to  the  pup.  He'd  like  to  play  with 
them  little  duds." 

"No;  I'll  try  'em  on  the  little  boy  to- 
night," reflected  Jim,  "and  then,  if  we  find 
they  ain't  a  fit,  why,  I'll  either  send  'em  back 
or  cut  'em  apart  and  sew  'em  all  over  and 
make  'em  do." 

But  once  he  had  tried  them  on,  their  fate 
was  sealed.  They  remained  as  much  a  part 
of  the  tiny  man  as  did  his  furry  doll.  Indeed, 
they  were  presently  almost  forgotten,  for  De- 
cember being  well  advanced,  the  one  great 
topic  of  conversation  now  was  the  Christmas 
celebration  to  be  held  for  the  camp's  one  lit- 
tle child. 

Ten  of  the  big,  rough  citizens  had  come 
one  evening  to  the  cabin  on  the  hill,  to 
settle  on  some  of  the  details  of  what  they 
should  do.  The  tiny  pilgrim,  whom  they 
all  regarded  so  fondly,  had  gone  to  sleep 
and  Jim  had  placed  him  in  his  bunk.  In  the 
chimney  a  glowing  fire  drove  away  the  chill 
of  the  wintry  air. 

"Speakin'  of  catfish,  of  course  we'll  hang 
up  his  stockin',"  said  Field.  "Christmas 
124 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

wouldn't     be     no     Christmas     without     a 
stockin'." 

"  Stockin' !"  echoed  the  blacksmith.  "  We'll 
have  to  hang  up  a  minin' -shaft,  I  reckon,  for 
to  hold  all  the  things." 

"I'm  goin'  to  make  him  a  kind  of  kali- 
derscope  myself,  or  maybe  two  or  three," 
said  one  modest  individual,  stroking  his 
chin. 

Dunn,  the  most  un workman-like  carpen- 
ter that  ever  built  a  crooked  house,  declared 
it  was  his  intention  to  fashion  a  whole  set  of 
alphabetical  blocks  of  prodigious  size  and  un- 
earthly beauty. 

"Well,  I  can't  make  so  much  in  the  way 
of  fancy  fixin's,  but  you  jest  wait  and  see," 
said  another. 

The  blacksmith  darkly  hinted  at  wonders 
evolving  beneath  the  curly  abundance  of 
his  hair,  and  Lufkins  likewise  kept  his  pur- 
poses to  himself. 

"  I  s'pose  we'd  ought  to  have  a  tree,"  said 
Jim.     "We  could   make   a   Christmas-tree 
look  like  the  Garden  of  Eden  before  Mrs. 
Adam  began  to  eat  the  ornaments." 
125 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"That's  the  ticket,"  Webber  agreed. 
"That's  sure  the  boss  racket  of  them  all." 

"  We  couldn't  git  no  tree  into  this  shanty,'' 
objected  Field.  "  This  place  ain't  big  enough 
to  hold  a  Christmas  puddin'." 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  the  carpenter.  "  It's 
ten  foot  ten  by  eighteen  foot  six  inches,  or 
I  can't  do  no  guessin'." 

"That  'mount  of  space  couldn't  hold  jest 
me,  on  Christmas,"  estimated  the  teamster. 

"And  the  whole  camp  sure  will  want  to 
come,"  added  another. 

"  'Ceptin'  Miss  Doc,"  suggested  Webber. 

"'Ceptin'  Miss  Doc,"  agreed  the  previous 
speaker. 

"  Then  why  not  have  the  tree  down  yonder, 
into  Webber's  shop,  same  as  church?"  asked 
Field.  "We  could  git  the  whole  camp  in 
there." 

This  was  acclaimed  a  thought  of  genius. 

"It  suits  me  down  to  the  ground,"  said 
Jim,  with  whom  all  ultimate  decision  lay, 
by  right  of  his  foster -parenthood  of  little 
Skeezucks,  "only  I  don't  see  so  plain  where 
we're  goin'  to  git  the  tree.  We're  burnin' 
126 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

all  the  biggest  brush  around  Borealis,  and 
there  ain't  a  genuine  Christmas-tree  in  forty 
miles." 

The  truth  of  this  observation  fell  like  a 
dampened  blanket  on  all  the  company. 

"That's  so,"  said  Webber.  "That's  just 
the  luck!" 

"  There's  a  bunch  of  willers  and  alders  by 
the  spring,"  suggested  a  hopeful  person. 

"You  pore,  pitiful  cuss,"  said  Field. 
"You  couldn't  have  seen  no  Christmas-tree 
in  all  your  infancy." 

"If  only  I  had  the  time,"  drawled  Jim, 
"I'd  go  across  to  the  Piny  on  mountains  and 
git  a  tree.  Perhaps  I  can  do  that  yet." 

"  If  you'd  do  that,  Jim,  that  would  be  the 
biggest  present  of  the  lot,"  said  Webber. 
"You  wouldn't  have  to  do  nuthin'  more." 

"Wai,  I'm  goin'  to  make  a  Noah's  ark 
full  of  animals,  anyway,"  said  Jim.  "Also 
a  few  cars  and  boats  and  a  big  tin  horn — if 
only  I've  got  the  activity." 

"  But  we'll  reckon  on  you  for  the  tree,"  in- 
sisted the  blacksmith.     "  Then,  of  course,  we 
want  a  great  big  Christmas  dinner." 
127 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  fer  a  turkey?" 
inquired  Field. 

"And  rich  brown  gravy?"  added  the  car- 
penter. 

"And  cranberry  sauce  and  mince -pie?" 
supplemented  Lufkins. 

"  Well,  maybe  we  could  git  a  rabbit  for  the 
turkey,"  answered  the  smith. 

"And,  by  jinks!  I  kin  make  a  lemon -pie 
that  tastes  like  a  chunk  dropped  out  of  heav- 
en," volunteered  Keno,  pulling  at  his  sleeves. 

"  But  what  about  that  rich  brown  gravy?" 
queried  the  carpenter. 

"Smoky  White  can  dish  up  the  slickest 
dough-nuts  you  ever  slapped  your  lip  onto," 
informed  the  modest  individual  who  stroked 
his  chin. 

"We  can  have  pertatoes  and  beans  and 
slapjacks  on  the  side,"  a  hopeful  miner  re- 
minded the  company. 

"You  bet.  Don't  you  worry;  we  can  trot 
out  a  regular  banquet,"  Field  assured  them, 
optimistically.  "  S'posen  we  don't  have  tur- 
key and  cranberry  sauce  and  a  big  mince- 
pie?" 

128 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"I'd  like  that  rich  brown  gravy,"  mur- 
mured the  carpenter — "good  and  thick  and 
rich  and  brown." 

"  We  could  rig  up  a  big,  long  table  in  the 
shop,"  planned  the  blacksmith,  "  and  put  a 
hundred  candles  everywhere,  and  have  the 
tree  all  blazin'  with  lights,  and  you  bet  things 
would  be  gorgeous." 

"If  we  git  the  tree,"  said  Lufkins. 

"And  the  rabbit  fer  a  turkey,"  added  a 
friend. 

"Well,  by  jinks!  you'll  git  the  lemon-pie 
all  right,  if  you  don't  git  nuthin'  else,"  de- 
clared little  Keno. 

"If  only  I  can  plan  it  out  I'll  fetch  the 
tree,"  said  Jim.  "I'd  like  to  do  that  for  the 
little  boy." 

"  Jim's  an  awful  clever  ole  cuss,"  said  Field, 
trusting  to  work  some  benefit  by  a  judicious 
application  of  flattery.  "  It  ain't  every  man 
which  knows  the  kind  of  a  tree  to  chop.  Not 
all  trees  is  Christmas-trees.  But  ole  Jim  is  a 
clever  ole  duck,  you  bet." 

"  Wai,"  drawled  Jim,  "  I  never  suspect  my 
own  intelligence  till  a  man  begins  to  tell  me 
129 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

I'm  a  clever  old  duck.  Still,  I  reckon  I  ain't 
over-likely  to  cut  no  cherry-trees  over  to  the 
Pinyon  hills." 

"The  celebration's  comin'  to  a  head  in 
bully  style,  that's  the  main  concern,"  said 
the  teamster.  "  I  s'pose  we'd  better  begin 
to  invite  all  the  boys?" 

"  If  all  of  'em  come,"  suggested  a  listener, 
"that  one  jack-rabbit  settin'  up  playin'  tur- 
key will  look  awful  sick." 

"  I'd  hate  to  git  left  on  the  gravy,"  added 
the  carpenter — "if  there's  goin'  to  be  any 
gravy." 

"Aw,  we'll  have  buckets  of  grub,"  said  the 
smith.  "  We'll  ask  'em  all  to  '  please  bring  re- 
freshments,' same  as  they  do  in  families  where 
they  never  git  a  good  square  meal  except 
at  surprise -parties  and  birthday  blow-outs. 
Don't  you  fear  about  the  feed." 

"Well,  we  ought  to  git  the  jig  to  goin'," 
suggested  Field.  "  Lots  of  the  boys  needs  a 
good  fair  warnin'  when  they're  goin'  to  tackle 
cookin'  grub  for  a  Christmas  dinner.  I  vote 
we  git  out  of  here  and  go  down  hill  and  talk 
the  racket  up." 

130 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

This  motion  was  carried  at  once.  The 
boys  filed  out  with  hearty  good-nights,  and 
wended  their  way  down  the  slope,  with  the 
bite  of  the  frosted  air  at  their  ears. 

Then  Jim,  at  the  very  thought  of  travelling 
forty  miles  to  fetch  a  tree  for  Christmas  gay- 
eties,  sat  down  before  his  fire  to  take  a  rest. 


CHAPTER 
XI 


J         L 


TROUBLES  AND   DISCOVERIES 

'OR  the  next  ten  days  the  talk 
of  the  camp  was  the  coming 
celebration.  Moreover,  man  af- 
ter man  was  surrounding  him- 
self with  mystery  impenetra- 
ble, as  he  drew  away  in  his  shell,  so  to 
speak,  to  undergo  certain  throes  of  inven- 
tion and  secret  manufacture  of  presents 
for  the  tiny  boy  at  the  cabin  on  the  hill. 
Knowing  nods,  sly  winks,  and  jealous  guard- 
ing of  their  cleverness  marked  the  big,  rough 
fellows  one  by  one.  And  yet  some  of  the  most 
secretive  felt  a  necessity  for  consulting  Jim 
as  to  what  was  appropriate,  what  would 
please  little  Skeezucks,  and  what  was  worthy 
to  be  tied  upon  the  tree. 

That  each  and  every  individual  thus  la- 
boring to  produce  his  offering  should  be  eager 
132 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

to  excel  his  neighbor,  and  to  win  the  greatest 
appreciation  from  the  all-unknowing  little 
pilgrim  for  his  own  particular  toy  or  trinket, 
was  a  natural  outcome  of  the  Christmas 
spirit  actuating  the  manoeuvres.  And  all  the 
things  they  could  give  would  have  to  be  made, 
since  there  was  not  a  shop  in  a  radius  of  a 
hundred  miles  where  baubles  for  youngsters 
could  be  purchased,  while  Borealis,  having 
never  had  a  baby  boy  before  in  all  its  sudden 
annals  of  being,  had  neglected  all  provision 
for  the  advent  of  tiny  Skeezucks. 

The  carpenter  came  to  the  cabin  first,  with 
a  barley-sack  filled  with  the  blocks  he  had 
made  for  the  small  foundling's  Christmas  ec- 
stasy. Before  he  would  show  them,  how- 
ever, Keno  was  obliged  to  leave  the  house 
and  the  tiny  pilgrim  himself  was  placed  in  a 
bunk  from  which  he  could  not  see. 

"I  want  to  surprise  him,"  explained  the 
carpenter. 

He  then  dumped  out  his  blocks. 

As  lumber  was  a  luxury  in  Borealis,  he 
had  been  obliged  to  make  what  shift  he  could. 
In  consequence  of  this  the  blocks  were  of  sev- 
133 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

eral  sizes,  a  number  were  constructed  of  sev- 
eral pieces  of  board  nailed  together — and 
split  in  the  process — no  two  were  shaped 
alike,  except  for  generalities,  and  no  one  was 
straight.  However,  they  were  larger  than 
a  man's  two  fists,  they  were  gaudily  painted, 
and  the  alphabet  was  sprinkled  upon  them 
with  prodigal  generosity.  There  were  even 
hieroglyphics  upon  them,  which  the  carpen- 
ter described  as  birds  and  animals.  They 
were  certainly  more  than  any  timid  child 
could  ever  have  demanded. 

"  Them's  it,"  said  Dunn,  watching  the  face 
of  Jim  with  what  modest  pride  the  situation 
would  permit.  "  Now,  what  I  want  you  to  do 
is  to  give  me  a  genuine,  candid  opinion  of  the 
work." 

"Wai,  I'll  tell  you,"  drawled  the  miner, 
"  whenever  a  man  asks  you  for  a  candid  opin- 
ion, that's  the  time  to  fill  your  shovel  with 
guff.  It's  the  only  safe  proceedin'.  So  I 
won't  fool  around  with  candid  opinions, 
Dunn,  I'll  just  admit  they  are  jewels.  Cut 
my  diamonds  if  they  ain't!" 

"I  kind  of  thought  so  myself,"  confessed 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

the  carpenter.  "But  I  thought  as  you  was 
a  first-class  critic,  why,  I'd  like  to  hear  what 
you'd  say." 

"No,  I  ain't  no  critic,"  Jim  replied.  "A 
critic  is  a  feller  who  can  say  nastier  things 
than  anybody  else  about  things  that  any- 
body else  can  do  a  heap  sight  better  than  he 
can  himself." 

"Well,  I  do  reckon,  as  who  shouldn't 
say  so,  that  nobody  livin'  into  Borealis  but 
me  could  'a'  made  them  blocks,"  agreed 
Dunn,  returning  the  lot  to  his  sack.  "  But 
I  jest  wanted  to  hear  you  say  so,  Jim,  fer  you 
and  me  has  had  an  eddication  which  lots 
of  cusses  into  camp  'ain't  never  got.  Not 
that  it's  anything  agin  'em,  but — you  know 
how  it  is.  I'll  bet  the  little  shaver  will  like 
them  better'n  anything  else  he'll  git." 

"Oh,  he'll  like  'em  in  a  different  way," 
agreed  the  miner.  "  No  doubt  about  that." 

And  when  the  carpenter  had  gone  old  Jim 
took  his  little  foundling  from  the  berth  and 
sat  him  on  his  knee. 

In  the  tiny  chap's  arms  the  powder-flask- 
and-potato  doll  was  firmly  held.  The"  face 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

of  the  lady  had  wrinkled  with  a  premature 
descent  of  age  upon  her  being.  One  of  her 
eyes  had  disappeared,  while  her  soot-made 
mouth  had  been  wiped  across  her  entire 
countenance. 

The  quaint  bit  of  a  boy  was  dressed,  as 
usual,  in  the  funny  little  trousers  that  came  to 
his  heels,  while  his  old  fur  cap  had  been  kept 
in  requisition  for  the  warmth  it  afforded 
his  ears.  He  cuddled  confidingly  against  his 
big,  rough  protector,  but  he  made  no  sound 
of  speaking,  nor  did  anything  suggestive  of 
a  smile  come  to  play  upon  his  grave  little 
features. 

Jim  had  told  him  of  Christmas  by  the 
hour — all  the  beauty  of  the  story,  so  old,  so 
appealing  to  the  race  of  man,  who  yearns 
towards  everything  affording  a  brightness  of 
hope  and  a  faith  in  anything  human. 

"What  would  little  Skeezucks  like  for 
his  Christmas?"  the  man  inquired,  for  the 
twentieth  time. 

The  little  fellow  pressed  closer  against  him, 
in  baby  shyness  and  slowly  answered: 

"  Bruv-ver— Jim." 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

The  miner  clasped  him  tenderly  against 
his  heart.  Yet  he  had  but  scanty  intimation 
of  the  all  the  tiny  pilgrim  meant. 

He  sat  with  him  throughout  that  day, 
however,  as  he  had  so  many  of  these  fleeting 
days.  The  larder  was  neglected ;  the  money 
contributed  at  "church"  had  gone  at  once, 
to  score  against  a  bill  at  the  store,  as  large 
as  the  cabin  itself,  and  only  the  labors  of 
Keno,  chopping  brush  for  fuel,  kept  the 
home  supplied  even  with  a  fire.  Jim  had 
been  born  beneath  the  weight  of  some  star 
too  slow  to  move  along. 

When  Keno  came  back  to  the  cabin  from 
his  work  in  the  brush  it  was  well  along  in 
the  afternoon.  Jim  decided  to  go  below  and 
stock  up  the  pantry  with  food.  On  arriving 
at  the  store,  however,  he  met  a  new  manner 
of  reception. 

The  gambler,  Parky,  was  in  charge,  as  a 
recent  purchaser  of  the  whole  concern. 

"You  can't  git  no  more  grub-stake  here 
without  the  cash,"  he  said  to  Jim.     "And 
now  you've  come,  you  can  pony  up  on  the 
bill  you  'ain't  yet  squared." 
137 


"So?"  said  Jim. 

"  You  bet  your  boots  it's  so,  and  you  can't 
begin  to  pungle  up  a  minute  too  soon!"  was 
the  answer. 

"I  reckon  you'd  ask  a  chicken  to  pungle 
up  the  gravel  in  his  gizzard  if  you  thought 
he'd  picked  up  a  sliver  of  gold,"  Jim  drawled, 
in  his  lazy  utterance.  "And  an  ordinary 
chicken,  with  the  pip  thrown  in,  could  pungle 
twice  to  my  once." 

"'Ain't  got  the  stuff,  hey?"  said  Parky. 
"Broke,  I  s'pose?  Then  maybe  you'll  git 
to  work,  you  old  galoot,  and  stop  playin' 
parson  and  goody-goody  games.  You  don't 
git  nothing  here  without  the  chink.  So 
perhaps  you'll  git  to  work  at  last." 

A  red-nosed  henchman  of  the  gambler's 
put  in  a  word. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  'ain't  gone  to  work," 
he  said. 

"Don't  you?"  drawled  Jim,  leaning  on 
the  counter  to  survey  the  speaker.  "Well, 
it  looks  to  me  as  if  you  found  out,  long  ago, 
that  all  work  and  no  play  makes  a  man  a 
Yankee." 

138 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  I  ain't  no  Yankee,  you  kin  bet  on  that!" 
said  the  man. 

"That's  pretty  near  incredible,"  drawled 
Jim. 

"And  I  ain't  neither,"  declared  the  gam- 
bler, who  boasted  of  being  Canadian.  ' '  Don't 
you  forget  that,  old  boy." 

" No,"  Jim  slowly  replied,  "I've  often  no- 
ticed that  all  that  glitters  ain't  American." 

"Well,  you  can  clear  out  of  here  and 
notice  how  things  look  outside,"  retorted 
Parky. 

Jim  was  slowly  straightening  up  when  the 
blacksmith  and  the  teamster  entered  the 
place.  They  had  heard  the  gambler's  order 
and  were  thoroughly  astounded.  No  man, 
howsoever  poor  and  unprepared  to  pay  a 
wretched  bill,  had  ever  been  treated  thus  in 
Borealis  before. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Webber. 

"Nuthin',  particularly,"  answered  Jim,  in 
his  slow,  monotonous  way,  "  only  a  difference 
of  opinion.  Parky  thinks  he's  brainy,  and  a 
gentleman — that's  all." 

"  I  can  see  you  don't  git  another  snack  of 

10 

139 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

grub  in  here,  my  friend,"  retorted  Parky, 
adding  a  number  of  oaths.  "And  for  just 
two  cents  I'd  break  your  jaw  and  pitch  you 
out  in  the  street." 

"  Not  with  your  present  flow  of  language," 
answered  Jim. 

The  teamster  inquired,  "Why  don't  Jim 
git  any  more  grub?" 

"  Because  I'm  running  this  joint  and  he 
'ain't  got  the  cash,"  said  Parky.  "You  got 
anything  to  say  about  the  biz?" 

"Jim's  got  a  call  on  me  and  my  cash," 
replied  the  brawny  Webber.  "Jim,  you  tell 
him  what  you  need,  and  I'll  foot  the  bill." 

"I'll  settle  half,  myself,"  added  Lufkins. 

"Thanks,  boys,  not  this  evenin',"  said 
Jim,  whose  pride  had  singular  moments  for 
coming  to  the  surface.  "There's  only  one 
time  of  day  when  it's  safe  to  deal  with  a 
gambler,  and  that's  thirteen  o'clock." 

"  I  wouldn't  sell  you  nothing,  anyway," 
said  Parky,  with  a  swagger.  "He  couldn't 
git  grub  here  now  for  no  money — savvy?" 

"  I  wonder  why  you  call  it  grub,  now  that 
it's  come  into  your  greasy  hands!"  drawled 
140 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

the  miner,  as  he  slowly  started  to  leave  the 
store.  "I'd  be  afraid  you'd  deal  me  a  dirty 
ace  of  spades  instead  of  a  decent  slice  of 
bacon."  And,  hands  in  pockets,  he  saun- 
tered away,  vaguely  wondering  what  he 
should  do. 

The  blacksmith  hung  for  a  moment  in  the 
balance  of  indecision,  rapidly  thinking.  Then 
he  followed  where  the  gray  old  Jim  had  gone, 
and  presently  overtook  him  in  the  road. 

"Jim,"  he  said,  "what  about  poor  little 
Skeezucks?  Say,  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do: 
I'll  wait  a  little,  and  then  send  Field  to  the 
store  and  have  him  git  whatever  you  need, 
and  pretend  it's  all  for  himself.  Then  we'll 
lug  it  up  the  hill  and  slide  it  into  the  cabin 
slick  as  a  lead  two-bits." 

"Can't  let  you  do  it,"  said  Jim. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Webber. 

Jim  hesitated  before  he  drawled  his  reply. 

"If  only  I  had  the  resolution,"  said  he, 
"  I  wouldn't  take  nothing  that  Parky  could 
sell." 

"When  we  git  you  once  talkin'  'if -only,' 
the  bluff  is  called,"  replied  the  smith,  with 
141 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

a  grin.  "  Now  what  are  you  needin'  at  the 
shack?" 

"You  rich  fellers  want  to  run  the  whole 
shebang,"  objected  Jim,  by  way  of  an  easy 
capitulation.  "There  never  yet  was  a  feller 
born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth  that 
didn't  want  to  put  it  in  every  other  feller's 
puddin'.  ...  I  was  goin'  to  buy  a  can  or  two 
of  condensed  milk  and  a  slab  of  bacon  and  a 
sack  of  flour  and  a  bean  or  two  and  a  little 
'baccy,  and  a  few  things  about  like  that." 

"All  right,"  said  the  blacksmith,  tabulat- 
ing all  these  items  on  his  fingers.  "And 
Field  kin  look  around  and  see  if  there  ain't 
some  extrys  for  little  Skeezucks." 

"  If  only  I  had  the  determination  I 
wouldn't  accept  a  thing  from  Parky's  stock," 
drawled  the  miner,  as  before.  "  I'll  go  to  work 
on  the  claim  and  pay  you  back  right  off." 

"Kerrect,"  answered  Webber,  as  gravely 
as  possible,  thinking  of  the  hundred  gaudy 
promises  old  Jim  had  made  concerning  his 
undeveloped  and  so  far  worthless  claim.  "  I 
hope  you'll  strike  it  good  and  rich." 

"Wai,"  drawled  Jim;  "bad  luck  has  to 
142 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

associate  with  a  little  good  luck  once  in  a 
while,  to  appear  sort  of  half-way  respectable. 
And  my  luck — same  as  any  tired  feller's — 
'ain't  been  right  good  Sunday-school  com- 
pany for  several  years." 

So  he  climbed  back  up  the  hill  once  more, 
and,  coming  to  his  cabin,  had  a  long,  earnest 
look  at  the  picks,  bars,  drills,  and  other 
implements  of  mining,  heavy  with  dust,  in 
the  corner. 

"  If  only  the  day  wasn't  practically  gone," 
said  he,  "I'd  start  to  work  on  the  claim 
this  afternoon." 

But  he  touched  no  tools,  and  presently  in- 
stead he  took  the  grave  little  foundling  on 
his  knee  and  told  him,  all  over,  the  tales  the 
little  fellow  seemed  most  to  enjoy. 

When  the  stock  of  provisions  was  finally 
fetched  to  the  house  by  Webber  himself,  the 
worthy  smith  was  obliged  to  explain  that 
part  of  the  money  supplied  to  Field  for  the 
purchase  of  the  food  had  been  confiscated  for 
debt  at  the  store.  In  consequence  of  this 
the  quantity  had  been  cut  to  a  half  its  in- 
tended dimensions. 

143 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"And  the  worst  of  it  is,"  said  the  black- 
smith, in  conclusion,  "we  all  owe  a  little  at 
the  store,  and  Parky 's  got  suspicious  that 
we're  sneakin'  things  to  you." 

Indeed,  as  he  left  the  house,  he  saw  that 
certain  red-nosed  microbe  of  a  human  being 
attached  to  the  gambler,  spying  on  his  visit 
to  the  hill.  Stopping  for  a  moment  to  reflect 
upon  the  nearness  of  Christmas  and  the  need- 
less worry  that  he  might  inflict  by  informing 
Jim  of  his  discovery,  Webber  shook  his  head 
and  went  his  way,  keeping  the  matter  to  him- 
self. 

But  with  food  in  the  house  old  Jim  was 
again  at  ease,  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  he 
quite  forgot  to  begin  that  promised  work 
upon  his  claim.  He  had  never  worked  except 
when  dire  necessity  made  resting  no  longer 
possible,  and  then  only  long  enough  to  se- 
cure the  wherewithal  for  sufficient  food  to  last 
him  through  another  period  of  sitting  around 
to  think.  If  thinking  upon  subjects  of  no  im- 
portance whatsoever  had  been  a  lucrative 
employment,  Jim  would  certainly  have  accu- 
mulated the  wealth  of  the  whole  wide  world. 
144 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

He  took  his  pick  in  his  hands  the  follow- 
ing day,  but  placed  it  again  in  its  corner, 
slowly,  after  a  moment's  examination  of  its 
blunted  steel. 

Three  days  went  by.  The  weather  was 
colder.  Bitter  winds  and  frowning  clouds 
were  hastening  somewhere  to  a  conclave  of 
the  wintry  elements.  It  was  four  days  only 
to  Christmas.  Neither  the  promised  Noah's 
ark  to  present  to  tiny  Skeezucks  nor  the 
Christmas-tree  on  which  the  men  had  planned 
to  hang  their  gifts  was  one  whit  nearer  to 
realization  than  as  if  they  had  never  been 
suggested. 

Meantime,  once  again  the  food-supply  was 
nearly  gone.  Keno  kept  the  pile  of  fuel 
reasonably  high,  but  cheer  was  not  so  prev- 
alent in  the  cabin  as  to  ask  for  further 
room.  The  grave  little  pilgrim  was  just  a 
trifle  quieter  and  less  inclined  to  eat.  He 
caught  a  cold,  as  tiny  as  himself,  but  bore  its 
miseries  uncomplainingly.  In  fact,  he  had 
never  cried  so  much  as  once  since  his  coming 
to  the  cabin ;  and  neither  had  he  smiled. 

In  sheer  concern  old  Jim  went  forth  that 
145 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

cold  and  windy  afternoon  of  the  day  but  four 
removed  from  Christmas,  to  make  at  least 
a  show  of  working  on  his  claim.  Keno, 
Skeezucks,  and  the  pup  remained  behind,  the 
little  red-headed  man  being  busily  engaged 
in  some  great  culinary  mystery  from  which 
he  said  his  lemon-pie  for  Christmas  should 
evolve. 

When  presently  Jim  stood  beside  the 
meagre  post -hole  he  had  made  once  upon  a 
time,  as  a  starter  for  a  mining-shaft,  he  look- 
ed at  it  ruefully.  How  horridly  hard  that 
rock  appeared !  What  a  wretched  little  scar 
it  was  he  had  made  with  all  that  labor  he  re- 
membered so  vividly!  What  was  the  good 
of  digging  here?  Nothing! 

Dragging  his  pick,  he  looked  for  a  softer 
spot  in  which  to  sink  the  steel.  There  were 
no  softer  spots.  And  the  pick  helve  grew 
so  intensely  cold!  Jim  dropped  it  to  the 
ground,  and  with  hands  thrust  into  his  arm- 
pits, for  the  warmth  afforded,  he  hunched 
himself  dismally  and  scanned  the  prospect 
with  doleful  eyes.  Why  couldn't  the  hill 
break  open,  anyhow,  and  show  whether  any- 
146 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

thing  worth  the  having  were  contained  in  its 
bulk  or  not? 

A  last  summer's  mullen  stock,  beating  in- 
cessantly in  the  wind,  seemed  the  only  thing 
alive  on  all  that  vast  outbulging  of  the 
earth.  The  stunted  brush  stiffly  carded  the 
breeze  that  blew  so  persistently. 

From  rock  to  rock  the  gray  old  miner's 
gaze  went  wandering.  So  undisturbed  had 
been  the  surface  of  the  earth  since  he  had 
owned  the  claim  that  a  shallow  channel, 
sluiced  in  the  earth  by  a  freshet  of  the  spring 
long  past,  remained  as  the  waters  had  cut  it. 
Slowly  up  the  course  of  this  insignificant 
cicatrice  old  Jim  ascended,  his  hands  still  held 
beneath  his  arms,  his  long  mustache  and 
his  grizzled  beard  blown  awry  in  the  breeze. 
The  pick  he  left  behind. 

Coming  thus  to  a  deeper  gouge  in  the  sand 
of  the  hill,  he  halted  and  gazed  attentively 
at  a  thick  seam  of  rock  outcropping  sharp- 
ly where  the  long -gone  freshet  had  laid  it 
bare.  In  mining  parlance  it  was  "  quartzy." 
To  Jim  it  appeared  even  more.  He  stooped 
above  it  and  attempted  to  break  away  a  frag- 
147 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ment  with  his  fingers.  At  this  he  failed. 
Rubbing  off  the  dust  and  sand  wherewith 
old  mother  nature  was  beginning  to  cover  it 
anew,  he  saw  little  spots,  at  which  he  scratch- 
ed with  his  nails. 

"Awful  cold  it's  gittin',"  he  drawled  to 
himself,  and  sitting  down  on  the  meagre 
bank  of  earth  he  once  more  thrust  his  hands 
beneath  his  coat  and  looked  at  the  outcrop- 
ping dismally. 

He  had  doubtless  been  gone  from  the  cabin 
half  an  hour,  and  not  a  stroke  had  he  given 
with  his  pick,  when,  as  he  sat  there  looking 
at  the  ground,  the  voice  of  Keno  came  on  the 
wind  from  the  door  of  the  shack.  Arising, 
Jim  started  at  once  towards  his  home,  leav- 
ing his  pick  on  the  hill-side  a  rod  or  two  be- 
low. 

"What  is  it?"  he  called,  as  he  neared  the 
house. 

"Calamerty!"  yelled  Keno,  and  he  disap- 
peared within  the  door. 

Jim  almost  made  haste. 

"What  kind  of  a  calamity?"  said  he,  as  he 
entered  the  room.  "What's  went  wrong?" 
148 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

"The  lemon-pie!"  said  Keno,  whose  face 
was  a  study  in  the  art  of  expressing  conster- 
nation. 

"Oh,"  said  Jim,  instantly  relieved,  "is 
that  all?" 

"All?"  echoed  Keno.  "  By  jinks!  I  can't 
make  another  before  it's  Christmas,  to  save 
my  neck,  and  I  used  all  the  sugar  and  nearly 
all  the  flour  we  had." 

"  Is  it  a  hopeless  case?"  inquired  Jim. 

"Some  might  not  think  so,"  poor  Keno 
replied.  "  I  scoured  out  the  old  Dutch  oven 
and  I've  got  her  in  a-bakin',  but — " 

"Well,  maybe  she  ain't  so  worse." 

"Jim,"  answeredKeno,  tragically, "  I  didn't 
find  out  till  I  had  her  bakin'  fine.  Then  I 
looked  at  the  bottle  I  thought  was  the  lem- 
on extract,  and,  by  jinks!  what  do  you 
think?" 

"  I  don't  feel  up  to  the  arts  of  creatin' 
lemon-pies,"  confessed  the  miner,  warming 
himself  before  the  fire.  "What  happened?" 

"You  have  to  have  lemon  extract — you 
know  that?"  said  Keno. 

"All  right." 

149 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Well,  by  jinks,  Jim,  it  wasn't  lemon  ex- 
tract after  all!  It  was  hair-oil!" 

A  terrible  moment  of  silence  ensued. 

Then  Jim  said,  "  Was  it  all  the  hair-oil  I 
had?" 

"Every  drop,"  said  Keno. 

"Wai,"  drawled  the  miner,  sagely,  "don't 
take  on  too  hard.  Into  each  picnic  some 
rain  must  fall." 

"But  the  boys  won't  eat  it,"  answered 
Keno,  inconsolably. 

"You  don't  know,"  replied  Jim.  "You 
never  can  tell  what  people  will  eat  on 
Christmas  till  the  follerin'  day.  They'll 
take  to  anything  that  looks  real  pretty  and 
smells  seasonable.  What  did  I  do  with  my 
pick?" 

"  You  must  have  left  it  behind,"  said  Keno. 
"You  ain't  goin'  to  hit  the  pie  with  your 
pick?" 

"Wai,  not  till  Christmas,  anyway,  Keno, 
and  only  then  in  case  we've  busted  all  the 
knives  and  saws  trying  to  git  it  apart,"  said 
Jim,  reassuringly. 

"Would  you  keep  it,  sure,  and  feed  it  to 
150 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

'em  all  the  same?"  inquired  Keno,  forlornly, 
eager  for  a  ray  of  hope. 

"I  certainly  would,"  replied  the  miner. 
"  They  won't  know  the  diff  between  a  lemon- 
pie  and  a  can  of  tomatoes.  So  I  guess  I'll 
go  and  git  my  pick.  It  may  come  on  to 
snow,  and  then  I  couldn't  find  it  till  the 
spring." 

Without  the  slightest  intention  of  working 
any  more,  Jim  sauntered  back  to  the  place 
where  the  pick  was  lying  on  the  hill  and  took 
it  up.  By  chance  he  thought  of  the  ledge 
of  quartz  above  in  the  rain-sluiced  channel. 

"  Might  as  well  hit  her  a  lick,"  he  drawled 
to  himself,  and  climbing  to  the  spot  he  drove 
the  point  of  his  implement  into  a  crevice 
of  the  rock  and  broke  away  a  piece  of  two 
or  three  pounds  in  weight.  This  he  took 
in  his  big,  red  hands,  which  were  numbing 
in  the  cold. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  at  the  fragment 
of  quartz  with  unbelieving  eyes.  He  wet  it 
with  his  tongue.  Then  a  something  that 
answered  in  Jim  to  excitement  pumped  from 
his  heart  abruptly. 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

The  rock  was  flecked  all  through  with  tiny 
specks  of  metal  that  the  miner  knew  un- 
erringly. 

It  was  gold 


CHAPTER 
XII 


THE   MAKING    OF  A  CHRISTMAS-TREE 

'ESPITE  the  snow  that  fell  that 
night,  despite  the  near  approach 
of  Christmas,  old  Jim's  discovery 
aroused  a  great  excitement  in 
the  camp.  That  very  evening  the 
news  was  known  throughout  all  Borealis,  and 
all  next  day,  in  the  driving  storm,  the  hill  was 
visited,  the  ledge  was  viewed,  and  the  topic 
was  discussed  at  length  in  all  its  amazing 
features. 

Teamsters,  miners,  loiterers — all,  even  in- 
cluding the  gambler — came  to  pay  their 
homage  at  the  hiding-place  of  one  of  Mam- 
mon's family.  All  the  mountain  -  side  was 
taken  up  in  claims.  The  calmest  man  in 
all  the  hills  was  Jim  himself. 

Parky  made  him  an  offer  without  the 
slightest  hesitation. 

153 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  I'll  square  off  your  bill  at  the  store,"  he 
said,  "and  give  you  a  hundred  dollars' 
worth  of  grub  for  the  claim  and  prospect 
just  as  she  stands." 

"  Not  to-day,"  old  Jim  replied.  "  I  never 
do  no  swapping  at  the  other's  feller's  terms 
when  I'm  busy.  We've  got  to  get  ready 
for  Christmas,  and  you  don't  look  to  me  like 
Santy  Glaus  hunting  'round  for  lovely  things 
to  do." 

"Anyway,  I'll  send  up  a  lot  of  grub," 
declared  the  gambler,  with  a  wonderful 
softening  of  the  heart.  "  I  was  foolin' — just 
havin'  a  joke — the  last  time  you  was  down 
to  the  store.  You  know  you  can  have  the 
best  we've  got  in  the  deck." 

"Wai,  I  'ain't  washed  the  taste  of  your 
joke  clean  out  of  my  mouth  just  yet,  so  I 
won't  bother  you  to-day,"  drawled  Jim; 
and  with  muttered  curses  the  gambler  left, 
determined  to  have  that  ledge  of  gold-bear- 
ing rock,  let  the  cost  be  what  it  might. 

"I  guess  we'll  have  to  quit  on  that  there 
Christmas-tree,"  said  the  blacksmith,  who 
was  present  with  others  at  the  cabin.  "  Seems 
154 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

you  didn't  have  time  to  go  to  the  Piny  on 
hills  and  fetch  one  back." 

"  If  only  I  hadn't  puttered  'round  with 
the  work  on  the  claim,"  said  Jim,  "we 
might  have  had  that  tree  as  well  as  not. 
But  I'll  tell  you  what  we  can  do.  We  can 
cut  down  the  alders  and  willows  at  the 
spring,  and  bind  a  lot  together  and  tie  on 
some  branches  of  mountain-tea  and  make  a 
tree.  That  is,  you  fellers  can,  for  little 
Skeezucks  ain't  a-feelin'  right  well  to-day, 
and  I  reckon  I'll  stay  close  beside  him  till 
he  spruces  up." 

"What  about  your  mine?"  inquired 
Lufkins. 

"  It  ain't  agoin'  to  run  away,"  said  the  old 
philosopher,  calmly.  "I'll  let  it  set  there  for 
a  few  more  days,  as  long  as  I  can't  hang  it 
up  on  the  tree.  It's  just  my  little  present 
to  the  boy,  anyhow." 

If  anything  had  been  needed  to  inject  new 
enthusiasm  into  the  plans  for  a  Christmas 
celebration  or  to  fire  anew  the  boyhood  in 
the  men,  the  find  of  gold  at  Jim's  very  door 
would  have  done  the  trick  a  dozen  times  over. 
155 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

With  hearts  new-created  for  the  simple 
joys  of  their  labor,  the  big  rough  fellows  cut 
the  meagre  growth  of  leafless  trees  at  the 
spring  in  the  small  ravine,  and  gathered 
evergreen  mountain-tea  that  grew  in  scrawny 
clusters  here  and  there  on  the  mountains. 

Armful  after  armful  of  this,  their  only  pos- 
sible material,  they  carried  to  the  black- 
smith's shop  below,  and  there  wrought  long 
and  hard  and  earnestly,  tying  together  the 
wisps  of  green  and  the  boughs  and  trunks 
of  tender  saplings. 

Four  of  the  stalks,  the  size  of  a  lady's  wrist, 
they  fastened  together  with  twisted  wire  to 
form  the  main  support,  or  body,  of  their  tree. 
To  this  the  reconstructed,  enlarged,  and 
strengthened  branches  were  likewise  wired. 
Lastly,  the  long,  green  spikes  of  the  mountain 
shrub  were  tied  on,  in  bunches,  like  so  many 
worn-out  brooms.  The  tree,  when  complet- 
ed and  standing  in  its  glory  in  the  shop,  was 
a  marvellous  creation,  fully  as  much  like  a 
fir  from  the  forest  as  a  hair-brush  is  like  a 
palm. 

Then  began  the  scheme  of  its  decoration. 
156 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

One  of  the  geniuses  broke  up  countless  bot- 
tles, for  the  red  and  green  glass  they  afforded, 
and,  tying  the  pieces  in  slings  of  cord,  hung 
them  in  great  profusion  from  the  tree's  pe- 
culiar arms.  From  the  ceiling  of  his  place 
of  business,  Bone,  the  barkeep,  cut  down 
a  fluffy  lot  of  colored  paper,  stuck  there  in  a 
great  rosette,  and  with  this  he  added  much 
original  beauty  to  the  pile.  Out  of  cigar-boxes 
came  a  great  heap  of  bright  tin-foil  that  went 
on  the  branches  in  a  way  that  only  men  could 
invent. 

The  carpenter  loaded  the  structure  with 
his  gaudy  blocks.  The  man  who  had  prom- 
ised to  make  a  "kind  of  kaliderscope  "  made 
four  or  five  instead  of  one.  They  were  white- 
glass  bottles  filled  with  painted  pebbles,  but- 
tons, dimes,  chopped-up  pencils,  scraps  of 
shiny  tin,  and  anything  or  everything  that 
would  lend  confusion  or  color  to  the  bottle's 
interior  as  the  thing  was  rolled  about  or 
shaken  in  the  hands.  These  were  so  heavy 
as  to  threaten  the  tree's  stability.  There- 
fore, they  had  to  be  placed  about  its  base 
on  the  floor. 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

The  blacksmith  had  made  a  lot  of  little 
axes,  shovels,  picks,  and  hammers,  all  of 
which  had  been  filed  and  polished  with  the 
greatest  care  and  affectionate  regard  for  the 
tiny  man  whose  tree  and  Christmas  all  de- 
sired to  make  the  finest  in  the  world. 

The  teamster  had  evolved,  from  the  inside 
lining  of  his  winter  coat,  a  hybrid  duck-dog- 
bear  that  he  called  a  "woolly  sheep." 

One  of  the  men  had  whittled  out  no  less 
than  four  fat  tops,  all  ringed  with  colors  and 
truly  beautiful  to  see,  that  he  said  were  the 
best  he  had  ever  beheld,  despite  the  fact  that 
something  was  in  them  that  seemed  to  pre- 
vent them  from  spinning. 

Another  old  fellow  brought  a  pair  of  rusty 
skates  which  were  large  enough  for  a  six- 
foot  man.  He  told  of  the  wonderful  feats 
he  had  once  performed  on  the  ice  as  he  hung 
them  on  the  tree  for  little  Skeezucks. 

The  envy  of  all  was  awakened,  however, 
by  Field,  the  father  of  the  camp,  who  fetched 
a  drum  that  would  actually  make  a  -noise. 
He  had  built  this  wonder  out  of  genuine 
sheep-skin,  stretched  over  both  of  the  ends 
158 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

of  a  bright  tin  can  of  exceptional  size,  from 
which  he  had  eaten  the  contents  solely  with 
the  purpose  in  view  of  procuring  the  metal 
cylinder. 

There  were  wooden  animals,  cut-out  guns, 
swords  and  daggers,  wagons — some  of  them 
made  with  spools  for  wheels  —  a  sled  on 
which  the  paint  was  still  wet,  and  dolls  sus- 
piciously suggestive  of  potato-mashers  and 
iron  spoons,  notwithstanding  their  clothing. 
There  were  balls  of  every  size  and  color,  coins 
of  gold  and  silver,  and  books  made  up  of 
pasted  pictures,  culled  for  the  greater  part 
from  cans  of  peaches,  oysters,  tomatoes,  lob- 
sters, and  salmon. 

Nearly  every  man  had  fashioned  some- 
thing, and  hardly  anything  had  been  left  un- 
painted.  The  clumsy  old  "boys"  of  the 
town  had  labored  with  untold  patience  to 
perfect  their  gifts.  Their  earnestness  over 
the  child  and  the  day  was  a  beautiful  thing 
to  see.  Never  were  presents  more  impres- 
sive, as  to  weight.  The  men  had  made  them 
splendidly  strong. 

The    gifts   had   been  ticketed   variously, 


many  being  marked  "  For  Little  Skeezucks," 
but  by  far  the  greatest  number  bore  the  in- 
scription: "  For  Bruvver  Jim's  Baby — Merry 
Christmas." 

The  tree,  by  the  time  the  things  had  been 
lashed  upon  its  branches,  needed  propping 
and  guying  in  every  direction.  The  placing 
of  big,  white  candles  upon  it,  however,  strain- 
ed the  skill  and  self-control  of  the  men  to  the 
last  degree.  If  a  candle  prefers  one  set  of 
antics  to  another,  that  set  is  certainly  em- 
bodied in  the  versatile  schemes  for  lopping 
over,  which  the  wretched  thing  will  develop 
on  the  best-behaving  tree  in  the  world.  On 
a  home-made  tree  the  opportunities  for  a 
candle's  enjoyment  of  this,  its  most  diverting 
of  accomplishments,  are  increased  remark- 
ably. The  day  was  cold,  but  the  men  per- 
spired from  every  pore,  and  even  then  the 
night  came  on  before  the  work  was  com- 
pleted. 

When  at  length  they  ceased  their  labors 
for  the  day,  there  was  still  before  them  the 
appalling  task  of  preparing  the  Christmas 
banquet. 

160 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

In  the  general  worry  incident  to  all  such 
preparations  throughout  the  world,  Parky, 
the  gambler,  fired  an  unexpected  shot.  He 
announced  his  intention  of  giving  the  camp 
a  grand  celebration  of  his  own.  The  "  Pal- 
ace" saloon  would  be  thrown  wride  open  for 
the  holiday,  and  food,  drink,  music,  and 
dancing  would  be  the  order  of  the  memora- 
ble occasion. 

"  It's  a  game  to  knock  our  tree  and  ban- 
quet into  a  cocked  hat,"  said  the  blacksmith, 
grimly.  "Well — he  may  get  some  to  come, 
but  none  of  old  Jim's  friends  or  the  fellers 
which  likes  little  Skeezucks  is  goin'  to  desert 
our  own  little  festival." 

Nevertheless,  the  glitter  of  the  home-made 
tree  in  the  dingy  shop  was  dimmed. 


CHAPTER 
XIII 


THEIR    CHRISTMAS-DAY 

'HE  day  before  Christmas  should, 
by  right  of  delights  about  to 
blossom,  be  nearly  as  happy  as 
the  sweet  old  carnival  itself,  but 
up  at  the  cabin  on  the  hill  it 
was  far  from  being  joyous. 

The  tiny  mite  of  a  foundling  was  not  so 
well  as  when  his  friends  had  left  him  on  the 
previous  afternoon. 

He  was  up  and  dressed,  sitting,  in  his  grave 
little  way,  on  the  miner's  knee,  weakly  hold- 
ing his  crushed-looking  doll,  but  his  cold  had 
increased,  his  sweet  baby  face  was  paler,  the 
sad,  dumb  look  in  his  eyes  was  deeper  in  its 
questioning,  the  breakfast  that  the  fond  old 
Jim  had  prepared  was  quite  untasted. 

"  He  ain't  agoin'  to  be  right  down  sick,  of 
course?"  said  the  blacksmith,  come  to  report 
162 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

all  the  progress  made.  "  Natchelly,  we'd 
better  go  on,  gittin'  ready  fer  the  banquet? 
He'll  be  all  right  fer  to-morrow?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Jim.  "There  never  yet 
was  a  Christmas  that  wouldn't  get  a  little 
youngster  well.  He'll  come  to  the  tree,  you 
bet.  It's  goin'  to  be  the  happiest  time  he 
ever  had." 

Outside,  the  red-headed  Keno  was  chop- 
ping at  the  brush.  The  weather  was  cold 
and  windy,  the  sky  gray  and  forbidding. 
When  the  smith  had  gone,  old  Jim,  little 
Skeezucks,  and  the  pup  were  alone.  Tin- 
toretto, the  joyous,  was  prancing  about  with 
a  boot  in  his  jaws.  He  stumbled  constantly 
over  its  bulk,  and  growled  anew  at  every  in- 
terference with  his  locomotion. 

"Does  little  pardner  like  the  pup?"  said 
Jim,  patting  the  sick  little  man  on  the  back 
with  his  clumsy  but  comforting  hand.  "Do 
you  want  him  to  come  here  and  play?" 

The  wee  bit  of  a  parentless,  deserted  boy 
slowly  shook  his  head. 

"  Don't  you  like  him  any  more?"  said  Jim. 

A  weak  little  nod  was  the  answer. 
163 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Is  there  anything  the  baby  wants?"  in- 
quired the  miner,  tenderly.  "What  would 
little  Skeezucks  like?" 

For  the  very  first  time  since  his  coming  to 
the  camp  the  little  fellow's  brown  eyes  ab- 
ruptly filled  with  tears.  His  tiny  lip  began 
to  tremble. 

"  Bruv-ver  Jim,"  he  said,  and,  leaning 
against  the  rough  old  coat  of  the  miner,  he 
cried  in  his  silent  way  of  passionate  longing, 
far  too  deep  in  his  childish  nature  for  the 
man  to  comprehend. 

"Poor  little  man  ain't  well,"  said  Jim,  in 
a  gentle  way  of  soothing.  "  Bruwer  Jim  is 
here  all  right,  and  goin'  to  stay,"  and,  hold- 
ing the  quiet  little  figure  to  his  heart,  he  stood 
up  and  walked  with  him  up  and  down  the 
dingy  cabin's  length,  till  the  shaking  little 
sobs  had  ceased  and  the  sad  little  man  had 
gone  to  sleep. 

All  day  the  miner  watched  the  sleeping 
or  the  waking  of  the  tiny  pilgrim.  The  men 
who  came  to  tell  of  the  final  completion  of  the 
tree  and  the  greater  preparations  for  the 
feast  were  assured  that  the  one  tiny  guest 
164 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

for  whom  their  labors  of  love  were  being  ex- 
pended would  surely  be  ready  to  enjoy  the 
celebration. 

The  afternoon  gave  way  to  night  in  the 
manner  common  to  wintry  days.  From 
time  to  time  a  gust  of  wind  tore  the  fleece 
from  the  clouds  and  hurled  it  in  snow  upon 
the  silent  earth.  Dimly  the  lights  of  the  cab- 
ins shone  through  the  darkness  and  the  chill. 

At  the  blacksmith's  shop  the  wind  went 
in  as  if  to  warm  itself  before  the  forge,  only 
to  find  it  chill  and  black,  wherefore  it  crept 
out  again  at  the  creaking  door.  A  long, 
straight  pencil  of  snow  was  flung  through  a 
chink,  across  the  earthen  floor  and  against 
the  swaying  Christmas  -  tree,  on  which  the 
presents,  hanging  in  readiness  for  little 
Skeezucks,  beat  out  a  dull,  monotonous  clat- 
ter of  tin  and  wood  as  they  collided  in  the 
draught. 

The  morning — Christmas  morning — broke 
with  one  bright  gleam  of  sunlight,  shining 
through  the  leaden  banks  before  the  cover 
of  clouds  was  once  more  dropped  upon  the 
broken  rim  of  mountains  all  about. 
165 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Old  Jim  was  out  of  his  bunk  betimes,  cook- 
ing a  breakfast  fit,  he  said,  "  to  tempt  a  skel- 
eton to  feast." 

True  to  his  scheme  of  ensnaring  the  gray 
old  miner  in  an  idleness  with  regard  to  his 
mine  which  should  soon  prove  a  fatal  mis- 
take, Parky,  the  gambler,  had  sent  a  load  of 
the  choicest  provisions  from  the  store  to  the 
cabin  on  the  hill.  Only  too  glad  of  the 
daintier  morsels  thus  supplied  for  his  ailing 
little  guest,  old  Jim  had  made  but  feeble  pro- 
test when  the  things  arrived,  and  now  was 
preparing  a  meal  from  the  nicest  of  the  pack- 
ages. 

Little  Skeezucks,  however,  waked  in  a 
mood  of  lethargy  not  to  be  fathomed  by 
mere  affection.  Not  only  did  he  turn  away 
at  the  mere  suggestion  of  eating,  but  he 
feebly  hid  his  face  and  gave  a  little  moan. 

"  He  ain't  no  better,"  Jim  announced,  put- 
ting down  a  breakfast  -  dish  with  its  cargo 
quite  untasted.  "I  wish  we  had  a  little  bit 
of  medicine." 

"What  kind?"  said  the  worried  Keno. 

"It  wouldn't  make  much  difference,"  an- 
166 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY- 

swered  the  miner.  ''Anything  is  medicine 
that  a  doctor  prescribes,  even  if  it's  only 
sugar-and-water . ' ' 

"  But  there  ain't  a  doctor  into  camp,"  ob- 
jected Keno,  hauling  at  his  sleeves.  "And 
the  one  they  had  in  Bullionville  has  went 
away,  and  he  was  fifty  miles  from  here." 

"I  know,"  said  Jim. 

"You  don't  think  he's  sick?"  inquired 
Kenp,  anxiously. 

Jim  looked  long  at  his  tiny  foundling 
dressed  in  the  nightie  that  came  below  his 
feet.  A  dull,  heavy  look  was  in  the  little 
fellow's  eyes,  half  closed  and  listless. 

"He  ain't  no  better,"  the  miner  repeated. 
"  I  don  t  know  what  to  do." 

Keno  hesitated,  coughed  once  or  twice, 
and  stirred  the  fire  fiercely  before  he  spoke 
again.  Then  he  said,  "Miss  Doc  is  a  sort  of 
female  doctor.  She  knows  lots  of  female 
things." 

"Yes,  but  she  can't  work  'em  off  on  the 
boy,"  said  Jim.  "He  ain't  big  enough  to 
stand  it." 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  he  is,"  agreed  Keno, 
167 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

going  to  the  window,  on  which  he  breathed, 
to  melt  away  the  frosty  foliage  of  ice.  "I 
think  there's  some  of  the  boys  a-comin'— 
yep — three  or  four." 

The  boots  of  the  men  could  be  heard,  as 
they  creaked  on  the  crisply  frozen  snow,  be- 
fore the  visitors  arrived  at  the  door.  Keno 
let  them  in,  and  with  them  an  oreole  of 
chill  and  freshness  flavored  spicily  of  winter. 
There  were  three — the  carpenter,  Bone,  and 
Lufkins. 

"How's  the  little  shaver?"  Bone  inquired 
'at  once. 

"  About  the  same,"  said  Jim.  "  And  how's 
the  tree?" 

"All  ready,"  answered  Lufkins.  "Old 
Webber's  got  a  bully  fire,  and  iron  melting 
hot,  to  warm  the  shop.  The  tree  looks  great. 
She's  all  lit  up,  and  the  doors  all  shut  to  make 
it  dark,  and  you  bet  she's  a  gem — a  gor- 
geous gem — ain't  she,  fellers?" 

The  others  agreed  that  it  was. 

"And  the  boys  are  nearly  all  on  deck," 
resumed  the  teamster,  "and  Webber  want- 
ed   to   know    if   the    morning  —  Christmas 
168 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

morning  —  ain't  the  time  for  to  fetch  the 
boy." 

"Wai,  some  might  think  so,"  Jim  replied, 
unwilling  to  concede  that  the  tiny  man  in 
the  bunk  was  far  too  ill  to  join  in  the  cheer 
so  early  in  the  day.  "But  the  afternoon  is 
the  regular  parliamentary  time,  and,  anyway, 
little  Skeezucks  'ain't  had  his  breakfast,  boys, 
and — we  want  to  be  sure  the  shop  is  good 
and  warm." 

"The  boys  is  all  waitin'  fer  to  give  three 
cheers,"  said  the  carpenter,  "and  we're  goin' 
to  surprise  you  with  a  Christmas  song  called 
'Massa's  in  the  Cole,  Cole  Ground."1 

"Shut  up!"  said  Bone;  "you're  givin'  it 
all  away.  So  you  won't  bring  him  down  this 
mornin'?" 

"Well,  we'll  tell  'em,"  agreed  the  disap- 
pointed Lufkins.  "What  time  do  you  think 
you'll  fetch  the  little  shaver,  then,  this  after- 
noon?" 

"  I  guess  about  twelve,"  said  Jim. 

"How's  he  feelin'?"  inquired  the  carpen- 
ter. 

"  Wai,  he  don't  know  how  to  feel  on  Christ- 
169 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

mas  yet,"  answered  the  miner,  evasively. 
"He  doesn't  know  what's  a-comin'." 

"Wait  till  he  sees  them  blocks,"  said  the 
carpenter,  with  a  knowing  wink. 

"I  ain't  savin'  nothin',"  added  Lufkins, 
with  the  most  significant  smile,  "but  you 
jest  wait." 

"Nor  me  ain't  doin'  any  talkin',"  said 
Bone. 

"Well,  the  boys  will  all  be  waitin',"  was 
the  teamster's  last  remark,  and  slowly  down 
the  whitened  hill  they  went,  to  join  their  fel- 
lows at  the  shop  of  the  smith. 

The  big,  rough  men  did  wait  patiently, 
expectantly,  loyally.  Blowing  out  the  can- 
dles, to  save  them  for  the  moment  when  the 
tiny  child  should  come,  they  sat  around,  or 
stood  about,  or  wandered  back  and  forth, 
each  togged  out  in  his  very  best,  each  with 
a  new  touch  of  Christmas  meaning  in  his 
heart. 

Behind  the  tree  a  goodly  portion  of  the 
banquet  was  in  readiness.  Keno's  pie  was 
there,  together  with  a  mighty  stack  of  dough- 
nuts, plates  on  plates  of  pickles,  cans  of  fruit 
170 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

preserves,  a  mighty  pan  of  cold  baked  beans, 
and  a  fine  array  of  biscuits  big  as  a  man's 
two  fists.  From  time  to  time  the  carpenter, 
who  had  saved  up  his  appetite  for  nearly 
twenty-four  hours,  went  back  to  the  table 
and  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  spread.  At 
length  he  took  and  ate  a  pickle.  From  that, 
at  length,  his  gaze  went  longingly  to  Keno  s 
pie.  How  one  little  pie  could  do  any  good 
to  a  score  or  so  of  men  he  failed  to  see.  At 
last,  in  his  hunger,  he  could  bear  the  tempta- 
tion no  longer.  He  descended  on  the  pie. 
But  how  it  came  to  be  shied  through  the 
window,  practically  intact,  half  a  moment 
later,  was  never  explained  to  the  waiting 
crowd. 

By  the  time  gray  noon  had  come  across 
the  mountain  desolation  to  the  group  of 
little  shanties  in  the  snow,  old  Jim  was 
thoroughly  alarmed.  Little  Skeezucks  was 
helplessly  lying  in  his  arms,  inert,  breathing 
with  difficulty,  and  now  and  again  moan- 
ing, as  only  a  sick  little  mite  of  humanity 
can. 

"We  can't  take  him  down,"  said  the  min- 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

er,  at  last.     "He  ought  to  have  a  woman's 
care." 

Keno  was  startled;  his  worry  suddenly 
engulfed  him. 

"What  kin  we  do?"  he  asked,  in  helpless- 
ness. 

"Miss  Doc's  a  decent  woman,"  answered 
Jim,  in  despair.  "She  might  know  what 
to  do." 

"You  couldn't  bring  yourself  to  that?" 
asked  Keno,  thoroughly  amazed. 

"I  could  bring  myself  to  anything,"  said 
Jim,  "  if  only  my  little  boy  could  be  well  and 
happy." 

"Then  you  ain't  agoin'  to  take  him  down 
to  the  tree?" 

"How  can  I?"  answered  Jim.  "He's  aw- 
ful sick.  He  needs  something  more  than  I 
can  give.  He  needs — a  mother.  I  didn't 
know  how  sick  he  was  gettin'.  He  won't 
look  up.  He  couldn't  see  the  tree.  He 
can't  be  like  the  most  of  little  kids,  for  he 
don't  even  seem  to  know  it's  Christmas." 

"  Aw,  poor  little  feller !"  said  Keno.     "Jim, 
what  we  goin'  to  do?" 
172 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"You  go  down  and  ask  Miss  Doc  if  I  can 
fetch  him  there,"  instructed  Jim.  "I  think 
she  likes  him,  or  she  wouldn't  have  made  his 
little  clothes.  She's  a  decent  woman,  and  I 
know  she's  got  a  heart.  Go  on  the  run! 
I'm  sorry  I  didn't  give  in  before." 

The  fat  little  Keno  ran,  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
and  without  his  hat. 

Jim  was  afraid  the  motionless  little  found- 
ling was  dying  in  his  arms.  He  could  present- 
ly wait  no  longer,  either  for  Keno's  return 
or  for  anything  else.  He  caught  up  two  of 
the  blankets  from  the  bed,  and,  wrapping 
them  eagerly,  swiftly  about  the  moaning 
little  man,  left  his  cabin  standing  open  and 
hastened  down  the  white  declivity  as  fast  as 
he  could  go,  Tintoretto,  with  puppy  whin- 
ings  of  concern,  closely  tagging  at  his  heels. 

Lufkins,  starting  to  climb  once  more  to 
the  cabin,  beheld  him  from  afar.  With  all 
his  speed  he  darted  back  to  the  blacksmith- 
shop  and  the  tree. 

"He  coming!"  he  cried,  when  fifty  yards 
away.  "Light  the  candles — quick!" 

In  a  fever  of  joy  and  excitement  the  rough 
173 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

fellows  lighted  up  their  home-made  tree. 
The  forge  flung  a  largess  of  heat  and  light, 
as  red  as  holly,  through  the  gloom  of  the 
place.  All  the  men  were  prepared  with  a 
cheer,  their  faces  wreathed  with  smiles,  in 
a  new  sort  of  joy.  But  the  moments  sped 
away  in  silence  and  nothing  of  Jim  and  the 
one  small  cause  of  their  happiness  appeared. 
Indeed,  the  gray  old  miner  was  at  Denni- 
han's  already.  Keno  had  met  him  on  the 
hill  with  an  eager  cry  that  welcome  and  ref- 
uge were  gladly  prepared. 

With  her  face  oddly  softened  by  the  news 
and  appeal,  Miss  Doc  herself  came  running 
to  the  gate,  her  hungry  arms  outstretched  to 
take  the  child. 

"Just  make  him  well,"  was  Jim's  one  cry. 
"  I  know  a  woman  can  make  him  well." 

And  all  afternoon  the  men  at  the  black- 
smith's-shop  kept  up  their  hope.  Keno  had 
come  to  them,  telling  of  the  altered  plans  by 
which  little  Skeezucks  had  found  his  way  to 
Miss  Doc,  but  by  special  instruction  he  add- 
ed that  Jim  was  certain  that  improvement 
was  coming  already. 

174 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  He  told  me  that  evenin'  is  the  custom- 
ary hour  fer  to  have  a  tree,  anyhow,"  con- 
cluded Keno,  hopefully.  "He  says  he  was 
off  when  he  said  to  turn  it  loose  at  noon." 

"  Does  he  think  Miss  Doc  can  git  the  little 
feller  fixed  all  up  to  celebrate  to-night?"  in- 
quired Bone.  "Is  that  the  bill  of  fare?" 

"That's  about  it,"  said  Keno,  important- 
ly. "I'm  to  come  and  let  you  know  when 
we're  ready." 

Impatient  for  the  night  to  arrive,  excited 
anew,  when  at  last  it  closed  in  on  the  world 
of  snow  and  mountains,  the  celebrators  once 
more  gathered  at  the  shop  and  lighted  up 
their  tree.  The  wind  was  rushing  brusquely 
up  the  street;  the  snow  began  once  more  to 
fall.  From  the  "Palace"  saloon  came  the 
sounds  of  music,  laughter,  song,  and  revelry. 
Light  streamed  forth  from  the  window  in 
glowing  invitation.  All  day  long  its  flow 
of  steaming  drinks  and  its  endless  succes- 
sion of  savory  dishes  had  laded  the  air  with 
temptation. 

Not  a  few  of  the  citizens  of  Borealis  had 
succumbed  to  the  gayer  attractions  of  Parky 's 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

festival,  but  the  men  who  had  builded  a 
Christmas-tree  and  loaded  its  branches  with 
presents  waited  and  waited  for  tiny  Skee- 
zucks  in  the  dingy  shop. 

The  evening  passed.  Night  aged  in  the 
way  that  wintry  storm  and  lowering  skies 
compel.  Dismally  creaked  the  door  on  its 
rusted  hinges.  Into  the  chink  shot  the  par- 
ticles of  snow,  and  formed  again  that  icy 
mark  across  the  floor  of  the  shop.  One  by 
one  the  candles  burned  away  on  the  tree, 
gave  a  gasp,  a  flare,  and  expired. 

Silently,  loyally  the  group  of  big,  rough 
miners  and  toilers  sat  in  the  cheerless  gloom, 
hearing  that  music,  in  its  soullessness,  come 
on  the  gusts  of  the  storm — waiting,  waiting 
for  their  tiny  guest. 

At  length  a  single  candle  alone  illumined 
their  pitiful  tree,  standing  with  its  meagre 
branches  of  greenery  stiffly  upheld  on  its 
scrawny  frame,  while  the  darkness  closed 
sombrely  in  upon  the  glint  of  the  toys  they 
had  labored  to  make. 

Then  finally  Keno  came,  downcast,  pale, 
and  worried. 

176 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"The  little  feller's  awful  sick,"  he  said. 
"  I  guess  he  can't  come  to  the  tree." 

His  statement  was  greeted  in  silence. 

"Then,  maybe  he'll  see  it  to-morrow," 
said  the  blacksmith,  after  a  moment.  "It 
wouldn't  make  so  very  much  odds  to  us  old 
cusses.  Christmas  is  for  kids,  of  course.  So 
we'll  leave  her  standing  jest  as  she  is." 

Slowly  they  gave  up  their  final  hopes. 
Slowly  they  all  went  out  in  the  storm  and 
night,  shutting  the  door  on  the  Christmas 
celebration  now  abandoned  to  darkness,  the 
creak  of  the  hinges,  the  long  line  of  snow  in- 
side that  pointed  to  the  tree. 

One  by  one  they  bade  good-night  to  Web- 
ber, the  smith,  and  so  went  home  to  many 
a  cold  little  cabin,  seemingly  hunched  like  a 
freezing  thing  in  the  driving  storm. 


CHAPTER 
XIV 


"IF  ONLY  I   HAD  THE   RESOLUTION" 

?OR  the  next  three  or  four  days 
the  tiny  bit  of  a  man  at  Miss 
Doc's  seemed  neither  to  be  worse 
nor  better  of  his  ailment.  The 
hand  of  lethargy  lay  with  dulling 
weight  upon  him.  Old  Jim  and  Miss  Den- 
nihan  were  baffled,  though  their  tenderness 
increased  and  their  old  animosity  disap- 
peared, forgotten  in  the  stress  of  care. 

That  the  sister  of  Doc  could  develop  such 
a  spirit  of  motherhood  astounded  nearly 
every  man  in  the  camp.  Accustomed  to 
acerbities  of  criticism  for  their  many  short- 
comings from  her  ever-pointed  tongue,  they 
marvelled  the  more  at  her  semi-partnership 
with  Jim,  whom  of  all  the  population  of  the 
town  she  had  scorned  and  verbally  casti- 
gated most  frequently. 
178 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Resupplying  their  tree  with  candles,  the 
patient  fellows  had  kept  alive  their  hope  of 
a  great  day  of  joy  and  celebration,  only  to 
see  it  steadily  receding  from  their  view.  At 
length  they  decided  to  carry  their  presents 
to  the  house  where  the  wan  little  foundling 
lay,  trusting  the  sight  of  their  labors  of  love 
might  cheer  him  to  recovery. 

To  the  utter  amazement  of  her  brother, 
Miss  Doc  not  only  permitted  the  big,  rough 
men  to  track  the  snow  through  her  house, 
when  they  came  with  their  gifts,  but  she  gave 
them  kindly  welcome.  In  her  face  that  day 
they  readily  saw  some  faint,  illusive  sign  of 
beauty  heretofore  unnoticed,  or  perhaps  con- 
cealed. 

"  He'll  come  along  all  right,"  she  told  them, 
with  a  smile  they  found  to  be  singularly  sweet, 
"for  Jim  do  seem  a  comfort  to  the  poor  little 
thing." 

Old  Jim  would  surely  have  been  glad  to 
believe  that  he  or  anything  supplied  a  com- 
fort to  the  grave  little  sick  man  lying  so 
quietly  in  bed.  The  miner  sat  by  him  all 
day  long,  and  far  into  every  night,  only  climb- 
179 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ing  to  his  cabin  on  the  hill  when  necessity 
drove  him  away.  Then  he  was  back  there 
in  the  morning  by  daylight,  eager,  but  cheer- 
ful always. 

The  presents  were  heaped  on  the  floor  in 
sight  of  the  pale  little  Skeezucks,  who  clung 
unfailingly,  through  it  all,  to  the  funny  make- 
shift of  a  doll  that  "  Bruvver  Jim"  had  placed 
in  his  keeping.  He  appeared  not  at  all  to 
comprehend  the  meaning  of  the  gifts  the  men 
had  brought,  or  to  know  their  purpose.  That 
never  a  genuinely  happy  Christmas  had 
brightened  his  little,  mysterious  life,  Miss 
Dennihan  knew  by  a  swift,  keen  process  of 
womanly  intuition. 

"  I  wisht  he  wasn't  so  sad,"  she  said,  from 
time  to  time.  "  I  expect  he's  maybe  pinin'." 

On  the  following  day  there  came  a  change. 
The  little  fellow  tossed  in  his  bed  with  a  fever 
that  rose  with  every  hour.  With  eyes  now 
burning  bright,  he  scanned  the  face  of  the 
gray  old  miner  andbegged  for"  Bruwer  Jim." 

"This  is  Bruwer  Jim,"  the  man  assured 
him  repeatedly.  "What  does  baby  want 
old  Jim  to  do?" 

1 80 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Bruv-ver — Jim,"  came  the  half -sobbed 
little  answer.  "  Bruv-ver— Jim." 

Jim  took  him  up  and  held  him  fast  in  his 
arms.  The  weary  little  mind  had  gone  to 
some  tragic  baby  past. 

' '  No  -  body  —  wants  me  —  anywhere, ' '  he 
said. 

The  heart  in  old  Jim  was  breaking.  He 
crooned  a  hundred  tender  declarations  of  his 
foster-parenthood,  of  his  care,  of  his  wish  to 
be  a  comfort  and  a  "pard." 

But  something  of  the  fever  now  had  come 
between  the  tiny  ears  and  any  voice  of  ten- 
derness. 

"Bruv-ver — Jim;  Bruv-ver — Jim,"  the  lit- 
tle fellow  called,  time  and  time  again. 

With  the  countless  remedies  which  her 
lore  embraced,  the  almost  despairing  Miss 
Doc  attempted  to  allay  the  rising  fever.  She 
made  little  drinks,  she  studied  all  the  bottles 
in  her  case  of  simples  with  unremitting  at- 
tention. 

Keno,  the  always  -  faithful,  was  sent  to 
every  house  in  camp,  seeking  for  anything 
and  everything  that  might  be  called  a  medi- 
181 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

cine.  It  was  all  of  no  avail.  By  the  time 
another  day  had  dawned  little  Skeezucks 
was  flaming  hot  with  the  fever.  He  rolled 
his  tiny  body  in  baby  delirium,  his  feeble 
little  call  for  "  Bruwer  Jim"  endlessly  re- 
peated, with  his  sad  little  cry  that  no  one 
wanted  him  anywhere  in  the  world. 

In  his  desperation,  Jim  was  undergoing 
changes.  His  face  was  haggard;  his  eyes 
were  ablaze  with  parental  anguish. 

"I  know  a  shrub  the  Injuns  sometimes 
use  for  fever,"  he  said  to  Miss  Doc,  at 
last,  when  he  suddenly  thought  of  the 
aboriginal  medicine.  "  It  grows  in  the 
mountains.  Perhaps  it  would  do  him 
good." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  at  the  end 
of  her  resources,  and  she  clasped  her  hands. 
"I  don't  know." 

"If  only  I  can  git  a  horse,"  said  Jim,  "I 
might  be  able  to  find  the  shrub." 

He  waited,  however,  by  the  side  of  the 
moaning  little  pilgrim. 

Then,  half  an  hour  later,  Bone,  the  bar- 
keep,  came  up  to  see  him,  in  haste  and  ex- 
182 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

citement.  They  stood  outside,  where  the 
visitor  had  called  him  for  a  talk. 

"Jim,"  said  Bone,  "you're  in  fer  trouble. 
Parky  is  goin'  to  jump  your  claim  to-night 
— it  bein'  New  Year's  eve,  you  know — at 
twelve  o'clock.  He  told  me  so  himself.  He 
says  you  'ain't  done  assessment,  nor  you  can't 
—not  now — and  you  'ain't  got  no  more  right 
than  anybody  else  to  hold  the  ground.  And 
so  he's  meanin'  to  slap  a  new  location 
on  the  claim  the  minute  this  here  year  is 
up." 

"Wai,  the  little  feller's  awful  sick,"  said 
Jim.  "  I'm  thinkin'  of  goin'  up  in  the  moun- 
tains for  some  stuff  the  Injuns  sometimes  use 
for  fever." 

"You  can't  go  and  leave  your  claim  un- 
protected," said  Bone. 

"How  did  Parky  happen  to  tell  you  his 
intentions?"  said  Jim. 

"  He  wanted  me  to  go  in  with  him,"  Bone 
replied,  flushing  hotly  at  the  bare  suggestion 
of  being  involved  in  a  trick  so  mean.  "  He 
made  me  promise,  first,  I  wouldn't  give  the 
game  away,  but  I've  got  to  tell  it  to  you.  I 
183 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

couldn't  stand  by  and  see  you  lose  that  gold- 
ledge  now." 

"To-morrow  is  New  Year's,  sure  enough," 
Jim  replied,  reflectively.  "That  mine  be- 
longs to  little  Skeezucks." 

"  But  Parky's  goin'  to  jump  it,  and  he's 
got  a  gang  of  toughs  to  back  him  up." 

"  I'd  hate  to  lose  it,  Bone.  It  would  seem 
hard,"  said  Jim.  "But  I  ought  to  go  up  in 
the  hills  to  find  that  shrub.  If  only  I  had  a 
horse,  I  could  go  and  git  back  in  time  to 
watch  the  claim." 

Bone  was  clearly  impatient. 

"Don't  git  down  to  the  old  'if  only'  rack- 
et now,"  -he  said,  with  heat.  "I  busted 
my  word  to  warn  you,  Jim,  and  the  claim  is 
worth  a  fortune  to  you  and  little  Skeezucks." 

Jim's  eyes  took  on  a  look  of  pain. 

"But,  Bone,  if  he  don't  git  well,"  he  said 
— "if  he  don't  git  well,  think  how  I'd  feel! 
Couldn't  you  get  me  a  horse?  If  only — 

"Hold   on,"    interrupted    Bone,    "I'll   do 

all  I  kin  for  the  poor  little  shaver,  but  I 

don't  expect  I  can  git  no  horse.     I'll  go  and 

see,  but  the  teams  has  all  got  the  extry  stock 

184 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

in  harness,  fer  the  roads  is  mighty  tough,  and 
snow,  down  the  canon,  is  up  to  the  hubs  of 
the  wheels.  You've  got  to  be  back  before 
too  late  or  your  claim  goes  up,  fer,  Jim,  you 
know  as  well  as  me  that  Parky's  got  the  right 
of  law!" 

"  If  only  I  could  git  that  shrub,"  said  Jim, 
as  his  friend  departed,  and  back  to  the  toss- 
ing little  man  he  went,  worried  to  the  last  de- 
gree. 

Bone  was  right.  The  extra  horses  were 
all  in  requisition  to  haul  the  ore  to  the  quartz- 
mill  through  a  stretch  of  ten  long  miles  of 
drifted  snow.  Moreover,  Jim  had  once  too 
often  sung  his  old  "if -only"  cry.  .  The  men 
of  Borealis  smiled  sadly,  as  they  thought  of 
tiny  Skeezucks,  but  with  doubt  of  Jim, 
whose  resolutions,  statements,  promises,  had 
long  before  been  estimated  at  their  final 
worth. 

"  There  ain't  no  horse  he  could  have,"  said 
Lufkins,  making  ready  himself  to  drive  his 
team  of  twenty  animals  through  wind  and 
snow  to  the  mill,  "  and  even  if  we  had  a  mule, 
old  Jim  would  never  start.  It's  comin'  on  to 
185 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

snow  again  to-night,  and  that's  too  much  for 
Jim." 

Bone  was  not  at  once  discouraged,  but  in 
truth  he  believed,  with  all  the  others,  that 
Jim  would  no  more  leave  the  camp  to  go 
forth  and  breast  the  oncoming  snow  to 
search  the  mountains  for  a  shrub  than  he 
would  fetch  a  tree  for  the  Christmas  celebra- 
tion or  work  good  and  hard  at  his  claim. 

The  bar -keep  found  no  horse.  He  ex- 
pected none  to  be  offered,  and  felt  his  labors 
were  wasted.  The  afternoon  was  well  ad- 
vanced when  he  came  again  to  the  home  of 
Miss  Doc,  where  Jim  was  sitting  by  the  bed 
whereon  the  little  wanderer  was  burning  out 
his  life. 

"Jim,"  he  said,  in  his  way  of  bluntness, 
"  there  ain't  no  horse  you  can  git,  but  I  warn- 
ed you  'bout  the  claim,  and  I  don't  want  to 
see  you  lose  it,  all  fer  nothin'." 

"He's  worse,"  said  Jim,  his  eyes  wildly 
blazing  with  love  for  the  fatherless,  mother- 
less little  man.  "  If  only  I  had  the  resolution, 
Bone,  I'd  go  and  git  that  shrub  on  foot." 

"You'd  lose  yer  claim,"  said  Bone. 
186 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Miss  Doc  came  out  to  the  door  where  they 
stood.  She  was  wringing  her  hands. 

"Jim,"  she  said,  "if  you  think  you  kin, 
anyhow,  git  that  Injun  stuff,  why  don't  you 
go  and  git  it?" 

Jim  looked  at  her  fixedly.  Not  before  had 
he  known  that  she  felt  the  case  to  be  so  near- 
ly hopeless.  Despair  took  a  grip  on  his  vitals. 
A  something  of  sympathy  leaped  from  the 
woman's  heart  to  his  —  a  something  com- 
mon to  them  both — in  the  yearning  that  a 
helpless  child  had  stirred. 

"I'll  get  my  hat  and  go,"  he  said,  and  he 
went  in  the  house,  to  appear  almost  instant- 
ly, putting  on  the  battered  hat,  but  clothed 
far  too  thinly  for  the  rigors  of  the  weather. 

"But,  Jim,  it's  beginning  to  snow,  right 
now,"  objected  Bone. 

"  I  may  get  back  before  it's  dark,"  old  Jim 
replied. 

"  I  can  see  you're  goin'  to  lose  the  claim," 
insisted  Bone. 

"I'm  goin'  to  git  that  shrub!"  said  Jim. 
"  I  won't  come  back  till  I  git  that  shrub." 

He  started  off  through  the  gate  at  the  back 
13  187 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

of  the  house,  his  long,  lank  figure  darkly  cut 
against  the  background  of  the  white  that  lay 
upon  the  slope.  A  flurry  of  blinding  snow 
came  suddenly  flying  on  the  wind.  It  wrap- 
ped him  all  about  and  hid  him  in  its  fury, 
and  when  the  calmer  falling  of  the  flakes 
commenced  he  had  disappeared  around  the 
shoulder  of  the  hill. 


CHAPTER 
XV 


THE   GOLD    IN    BOREALIS 

"HE  men  to  whom  the  bar-keep 
told  the  story  of  Jim  and  his 
start  into  the  mountains  smiled 
again.  The  light  in  their  eyes 
was  half  of  affection  and  half  of 
concern.  They  could  not  believe  the  shift- 
less old  miner  would  long  remain  away  in 
the  snow  and  wind,  where  more  than  simple 
resolution  was  required  to  keep  a  man  afoot. 
They  would  see  him  back  before  the  dark- 
ness settled  on  the  world,  perhaps  with 
something  in  his,  hand  by  way  of  a  weed, 
if  not  precisely  the  "  Injun "  thing  he 
sought. 

But  the  darkness  came  and  Jim  was  not 
at  hand.  The  night  and  the  snow  seemed 
swirling  down  together  in  the  gorge,  from 
every  lofty  uprise  of  the  hills.  It  was  not 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

so  cold  as  the  previous  storm,  yet  it  stung 
with  its  biting  force. 

At  six  o'clock  the  blacksmith  called  at  the 
Dennihans',  in  some  anxiety.  Doc  himself 
threw  open  the  door,  in  response  to  the  knock. 
How  small  and  quiet  he  appeared,  here  at 
home! 

"  No,  he  'ain't  showed  up,"  he  said  of  Jim. 
"  I  don't  know  when  he'll  come." 

Webber  reported  to  the  boys. 

"Well,  mebbe  he's  gone,  after  all,"  said 
Field. 

"  He  looked  kind  of  funny  'round  the  eyes 
when  he  started,"  Bone  informed  them.  "I 
hope  he'll  git  his  stuff,"  and  they  wandered 
down  the  street  again. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  bar-keep  returned 
once  more  to  Miss  Doc's. 

No  Jim  was  there.  The  sick  little  found- 
ling was  feebly  calling  in  his  baby  way  for 
"  Bruvver  Jim." 

The  fever  had  him  in  its  furnace.  Rest- 
lessly, but  now  more  weakly  weaving,  the 
tiny  bit  of  a  man  continued  as  ever  to  cling 
to  his  doll,  which  he  held  to  his  breast  with 
190 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

all  that  remained  of  his  strength.  It  seem- 
ed as  if  his  tired  baby  brain  was  somehow 
aware  that  Jim  was  gone,  for  he  begged  to 
have  him  back  in  a  sweet  little  way  of  en- 
treaty, infinitely  sad. 

"  Bruvver  Jim?"  he  would  say,  in  his  ques- 
tioning little  voice — "Bruvver  Jim?"  And 
at  last  he  added,  "  Bruvver  Jim — do — yike — 
'ittle  Nu— thans." 

At  this  Miss  Doc  felt  her  heart  give  a 
stroke  of  pain,  for  something  that  was  almost 
divination  of  things  desolate  in  the  little  fel- 
low's short  years  of  babyhood  was  granted 
to  her  woman's  understanding. 

"  Bruvver  Jim  will  come,"  she  said,  as  she 
knelt  beside  the  bed.  "He'll  come  back 
home  to  the  baby." 

But  nine  o'clock  and  ten  went  by,  and  only 
the  storm  outside  came  down  from  the  hills 
to  the  house. 

Hour  after  hour  the  lamp  was  burning  in 
the  window  as  a  beacon  for  the  traveller; 
hour  after  hour  Miss  Dennihan  watched  the 
fever  and  the  weary  little  fellow  in  its  toils. 
At  half -past  ten  the  blacksmith,  the  carpen- 
191 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ter,  and  Keno  came,  Tintoretto,  the  pup,  cold- 
ly trembling  at  their  heels.  Jim  was  not  yet 
back,  and  the  rough  men  made  no  conceal- 
ment of  their  worry. 

"Not  home?"  said  Webber.  "Out  in  the 
hills— in  this?" 

"You  don't  s'pose  mebbe  he's  lost?"  in- 
quired the  carpenter. 

"No,  Jim  knows  his  mountains,"  replied 
the  smith,  "  but  any  man  could  fall  and  break 
his  leg  or  some  thin'." 

"I  wisht  he'd  come,"  said  Miss  Doc.  "I 
wisht  that  he  was  home." 

The  three  men  waited  near  the  house  for 
half  an  hour  more,  but  in  vain.  It  was  then 
within  an  hour  of  midnight.  Slowly,  at  last, 
they  turned  away,  but  had  gone  no  more  than 
half  a  dozen  rods  when  they  met  the  bar-keep, 
Doc  Dennihan,  Lufkins  the  teamster,  and 
four  other  men  of  the  camp,  who  were  com- 
ing to  see  if  Jim  had  yet  returned. 

"I  thought  he  mebbe  hadn't  come,"  said 

Bone,  when  Webber  gave  his  report,  "but 

Parky's  goin'  to  try  to  jump  his  claim  at 

twelve  o'clock,  and  we  ain't  goin'  fer  to  stand 

192 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

it!  Come  on  down  to  my  saloon  fer  extry 
guns  and  ammunition.  We're  soon  goin'  up 
on  the  hill  to  hold  the  ledge  fer  Jim  and  the 
poor  little  kid." 

With  ominous  coupling  of  the  gambler's 
name  with  rough  and  emphatic  language,  t^ie 
ten  men  marched  in  a  body  down  the  street. 

The  wind  was  howling,  a  door  of  some  de- 
serted shed  was  dully,  incessantly  slamming. 

Helplessly  Miss  Dennihan  sat  by  the  bed 
whereon  the  tiny  pilgrim  lay,  now  absolutely 
motionless.  The  fever  had  come  to  its  final 
stage.  Dry  of  skin,  burning  through  and 
through,  his  little  mouth  parched  despite  the 
touch  of  cooling  water  on  his  lips,  the  wee 
mite  of  a  man  without  a  name,  without  a 
home,  or  a  mother,  or  a  single  one  of  the 
baby  things  that  make  the  little  folks  so  joy- 
ous, had  ceased  to  struggle,  and  ceased  at 
last  to  call  for  "  Bruwer  Jim." 

Then,  at  a  quarter-past  eleven,  the  outside 
door  was  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  in  there 
staggered  Jim,  a  haggard,  wild-eyed  being, 
ghastly  white,  utterly  exhausted,  and  hold- 
ing in  his  hand  a  wretched,  scrawny  branch 

193 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

of  the  mountain  shrub  he  had  gone  to 
seek. 

"  Oh,  Jim!  Jim!"  cried  Miss  Doc,  and,  run- 
ning forward,  she  threw  her  arm  around  his 
waist  to  keep  him  up,  for  she  thought  he 
must  fall  at  every  step. 

'"He's  —  alive?"  he  asked  her,  hoarsely. 
"  He's  alive  ?  I  only  asked  to  have  him  wait ! 
Hot  water! — get  the  stuff  in  water — quick!" 
and  he  thrust  the  branch  into  her  hand. 

Beside  the  bed,  on  his  great,  rough  knees, 
he  fairly  fell,  crooning  incoherently,  and  by 
a  mighty  effort  keeping  his  stiff,  cold  hands 
from  the  tiny  form. 

Miss  Doc  had  kept  a  plate  of  biscuit  warm 
in  the  stove.  One  of  these  and  a  piece  of 
meat  she  gave  to  the  man,  bidding  him  eat 
it  for  the  warmth  his  body  required. 

"Fix  the  shrub  in  the  water,"  he  begged. 

"It's  nearly  ready  now,"  she  answered. 
"Take  a  bite  to  eat." 

Then,  presently,  she  came  again  to  his  side. 

"I've  got  the  stuff,"  she  said,  awed  by  the 

look  of  anguish  on  the  miner's  face,  and  into 

his  hands  she  placed  a  steaming  pitcher,  a 

194 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

cup,  and  a  spoon,  after  which  she  threw  across 
his  shoulders  a  warm,  thick  blanket,  dry  and 
comforting. 

Already  the  shrub  had  formed  a  dark,  pun- 
gent liquor  of  the  water  poured  upon  it. 
Turning  out  a  cupful  in  his  haste,  old  Jim 
flowed  the  scalding  stuff  across  his  hands. 
It  burned,  but  he  felt  no  pain.  The  spoon- 
ful that  he  dipped  from  the  cup  he  placed  to 
his  own  cold  lips,  to  test.  He  blew  upon  it 
as  a  mother  might,  and  tried  it  again. 

Then  tenderly  he  fed  the  tea  through  the 
dry  little  lips.  Dully  the  tiny  man's  unsee- 
ing eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face. 

"Take  it,  for  old  Bruvver  Jim,"  the  man 
gently  coaxed,  and  spoonful  after  spoonful, 
touched  every  time  to  his  own  mouth  first, 
to  try  its  heat,  he  urged  upon  the  little  pa- 
tient. 

Then  Miss  Doc  did  a  singular  thing.  She 
put  on  a  shawl  and,  abruptly  leaving  the 
house,  ran  with  all  her  might  down  the  street, 
through  the  snow,  to  Bone's  saloon.  For 
the  very  first  time  in  her  life  she  entered  this 
detested  place,  a  blazing  light  of  joy  in  her 
195 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

eyes.  Six  of  the  men,  about  to  join  the  four 
already  gone  to  the  hill  above,  where  Jim 
had  found  the  gold,  were  about  to  leave  for 
the  claim. 

"He's  come!"  cried  Miss  Doc.  "He's 
home — and  got  the  weed!  I  thought  you 
boys  would  like  to  know!" 

Then  backing  out,  with  a  singular  smile 
upon  her  face,  she  hastened  to  return  to  her 
home  with  all  the  speed  the  snow  would  permit. 

Alone  in  the  house  with  the  silent  little 
pilgrim,  who  seemed  beyond  all  human  aid, 
the  gray  old  miner  knew  not  what  he  should 
do.  The  shrub  tea  was  failing,  it  seemed  to 
him.  The  sight  of  the  drooping  child  was  too 
much  to  be  borne.  The  man  threw  back  his 
head  as  he  knelt  there  on  the  floor,  and  his 
stiffened  arms  were  appealingly  uplifted  in 
prayer. 

"God  Almighty,"  he  said,  in  his  broken 
voice  of  entreaty,  "don't  take  this  little  boy 
away  from  me!  Let  him  stay.  Let  him 
stay  with  me  and  the  boys.  You've  got  so 
many  little  youngsters  there.  For  Christ's 
sake,  let  me  have  this  one!" 
196 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

When  Miss  Doc  came  quietly  in,  old  Jim 
had  not  apparently  moved.  He  was  once 
more  dipping  the  pungent  liquor  from  the  cup 
and  murmuring  words  of  endearment  and 
coaxing,  to  the  all-unhearing  little  patient. 
The  eager  woman  took  off  her  shawl  and 
stood  behind  him,  watching  intently. 

"Oh,  Jim!"  she  said,  from  time  to  time — 
"oh,  Jim!" 

With  a  new  supply  of  boiling  water,  con- 
stantly heated  on  her  stove,  she  kept  the 
steaming  concoction  fresh  and  hot. 

Midnight  came.  The  New  Year  was  blown 
across  those  mighty  peaks  in  storm  and  fury. 
Presently  out  of  the  howling  gale  came  the 
sound  of  half  a  dozen  shots,  and  then  of  a 
fusillade.  But  Jim,  if  he  heard  them,  did 
not  guess  the  all  they  meant  to  him. 

For  an  hour  he  had  only  moved  his  hands 
to  take  the  pitcher,  or  to  put  it  down,  or  to 
feed  the  drink  to  the  tiny  foundling,  still  so 
motionless  and  dull  with  the  fever. 

One  o'clock  was  finally  gone,  and  two,  and 
three.     Jim  and  the  yearning  Miss  Doc  still 
battled  on,  like  two  united  parents. 
197 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Then  at  last  the  miner  made  a  half -stifled 
sound  in  his  throat. 

"You — can  go  and  git  a  rest,"  he  said, 
brokenly.  "The  sweat  has  come." 

All  night  the  wind  and  the  storm  contin- 
ued. All  through  the  long,  long  darkness,  the 
bitter  cold  and  snow  were  searching  through 
the  hills.  But  when,  at  last,  the  morning 
broke,  there  on  the  slope,  where  old  Jim's 
claim  was  staked,  stood  ten  grim  figures, 
white  with  snow,  and  scattered  here  and 
there  around  the  ledge  of  gold.  They  were 
Bone  and  Webber,  Keno  and  Field,  Doc 
Dennihan,  the  carpenter,  the  teamster,  and 
other  rough  but  faithful  men  who  had  guard- 
ed the  claim  against  invasion  in  the  night. 


CHAPTER 
XVI 


ARRIVALS   IN   CAMP 

'HERE  is  something  fine  in  a 
party  of  men  when  no  one  brags 
of  a  fight  brought  sternly  to  vic- 
tory. 

Parky,  the  gambler,  was  badly 
shot  through  the  arm;  Bone,  the  bar-keep, 
had  a  long,  straight  track  through  his  hair, 
cleaned  by  a  ball  of  lead.  And  this  was 
deemed  enough  of  a  story  when  the  ten  half- 
frozen  men  had  secured  the  claim  to  Jim  and 
his  that  New-Year's  morning. 

But  the  camp  regretted  on  the  whole  that, 
instead  of  being  shelved  at  his  house,  the 
gambler  had  not  been  slain. 

For  nearly  a  week  the  wan  little  foundling, 

emerging  from  the  vale  of  shadows  at  the 

home  of  Miss  Dennihan,  lay  as  if  debating, 

in  his  grave,  baby  way,  the  pros  and  cons 

199 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

of  existence.  And  even  when,  at  last,  he 
was  well  on  the  road  to  recovery,  he  some- 
how seemed  more  quiet  than  ever  before. 

The  rough  old  "boys"  of  the  town  could 
not,  by  any  process  of  their  fertile  brains,  find 
an  adequate  means  of  expressing  their  relief 
and  delight  when  they  knew  at  last  the 
quaint  little  fellow  was  again  himself. 

They  came  to  Miss  Dennihan's  in  groups 
with  brand-new  presents  and  with  wonder- 
ful spirits.  They  played  on  the  floor  like  so 
many  well-meaning  bears;  they  threatened 
to  fetch  their  poor,  neglected  Christmas-tree 
from  the  blacksmith-shop;  they  urged  Miss 
Doc  to  start  a  candy-pull,  a  night-school,  a 
dancing  -  class,  and  a  game  of  blindman's- 
buff  forthwith.  Moreover,  not  a  few  dis- 
covered traces  of  beauty  and  sweetness  in 
the  face  of  the  formerly  plain,  severe  old 
maid,  and  slyly  one  or  two  began  a  species 
of  courtship. 

On  all  their  manoeuvres  the  little  conva- 
lescent looked  with  grave  curiosity.  Such 
antics  he  had  surely  never  seen.  Pale  and 
silent,  as  he  sat  on  Jim's  big  knee  one  even- 
200 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ing,  he  watched  the  men  intently,  their  crude 
attempts  at  his  entertainment  furnishing 
an  obvious  puzzle  to  his  tiny  mind.  Then 
presently  he  looked  with  wonder  and  awe  at 
the  presents,  unable  to  understand  that  all 
this  wealth  of  bottles,  cubes,  tops,  balls,  and 
wagons  was  his  own. 

The  carpenter  was  spelling  "cat"  and 
"dog"  and  "Jim"  with  the  blocks,  while 
Field  was  rolling  the  balls  on  the  floor  and 
others  were  demonstrating  the  beauties  and 
functions  of  kaleidoscopes  and  endless  other 
offerings;  but  through  it  all  the  pale  little 
guest  of  the  camp  still  held  with  undimin- 
ished  fervor  to  the  doll  that  Jim  had  made 
when  first  he  came  to  Borealis. 

"We'd  ought  to  git  up  another  big  Christ- 
mas," said  the  blacksmith,  standing  with 
his  arms  akimbo.  "He  didn't  have  no  holi- 
days worth  a  cent." 

"  We  could  roll  'em  all  into  one,"  suggested 
Field— "  Christmas,  New  Year's,  St.  Valen- 
tine's, and  Fourth  of  July." 

"What's   the  matter  with  Washington's 
birthday?"  Bone  inquired. 
201 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"And  mine?"  added  Keno,  pulling  down 
his  sleeves.  "By  jinks!  it  comes  next 
week." 

"Aw,  you  never  had  a  birthday,"  an- 
swered the  teamster.  "You  was  jest  mixed 
up  and  baked,  like  gingerbread." 

"  Or  a  lemon  pie,"  said  the  carpenter,  with 
obvious  sarcasm. 

"Wai,  holidays  are  awful  hard  for  some 
little  folks  to  digest,"  said  Jim.  "I'm  kind 
of  scared  to  see  another  come  along." 

"I  should  think  to-night  is  pretty  near 
holiday  enough,"  said  the  altered  Miss  Doc. 
"  Our  little  boy  has  come  'round  delightful." 

"Kerrect,"  said  Bone.  "But  if  us  old 
cusses  could  see  him  sort  of  laughin'  and 
crowin'  it  would  do  us  heaps  of  good." 

"Give  him  time,"  said  the  teamster. 
"  Some  of  the  sickenest  crowin'  I  ever  heard 
was  let  out  too  soon." 

The  carpenter  said,  "You  jest  leave  him 
alone  with  these  here  blocks  for  a  day  or 
two,  if  you  want  to  hear  him  laugh." 

"  'Ain't  we  all  laughed  at  them  things 
enough  to  suit  you  yit?"  inquired  Bone. 
202 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Some  people  would  want  you  to  laugh  at 
their  funeral,  I  reckon." 

"Wai,  laughin'  ain't  everything  there  is 
worth  the  havin',"  Jim  drawled.  "Some 
people's  laughin'  has  made  me  ashamed,  and 
some  has  made  me  walk  with  a  limp,  and 
some  has  made  me  fightin'  mad.  When  lit- 
tle Skeezucks  starts  it  off  —  I  reckon  it's 
goin'  to  make  me  a  boy  again,  goin'  in  swim- 
min'  and  eatin'  bread-and-molasses." 

For  the  next  few  days,  however,  Jim  and 
the  others  were  content  to  see  the  signs  of 
returning  baby  strength  that  came  to  little 
Skeezucks.  That  the  clearing  away  of  the 
leaden  clouds,  and  the  coming  of  beauty  and 
sunshine,  pure  and  dazzling,  had  a  magical 
effect  upon  the  tiny  chap,  as  well  as  on  them- 
selves, the  men  were  all  convinced.  And  the 
camp,  one  afternoon,  underwent  a  wholly 
novel  and  unexpected  sensation  of  delight. 

A  man,  with  his  sweet,  young  wife  and 
three  small,  bright-faced  children,  came  driv- 
ing to  Borealis.  With  two  big  horses  steam- 
ing in  the  crystal  air  and  blowing  great,  white 
clouds  of  mist  from  their  nostrils,  with  wheels 
i4  203 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

rimmed  deeply  by  the  snow  between  the 
spokes,  with  colored  wraps  and  mittened 
hands,  and  three  red  worsted  caps  upon  the 
children's  heads,  the  vision  coming  up  the 
one  straight  street  was  quite  enough  to 
warm  up  every  heart  in  town. 

The  rig  drew  up  in  front  of  the  blacksmith- 
shop,  and  twenty  men  came  walking  there 
to  give  it  welcome. 

"Howdy,  stranger?"  said  the  blacksmith, 
as  he  came  from  his  forge,  bareheaded,  his 
leathern  apron  tied  about  his  waist,  his  ^leeves 
rolled  up,  and  his  big,  hairy  arms  akimbo. 
"  Pleasant  day.  You're  needin'  somethin' 
fixed,  I  see,"  and  he  nodded  quietly  tow- 
ards a  road-side  job  of  mending  at  the  double- 
tree, which  was  roughly  wrapped  about  with 
rope. 

"Yes.  Good -morning,"  said  the  driver 
of  the  rig,  a  clear-eyed,  wholesome-looking 
man  of  clerical  appearance.  "We  had  a 
little  accident.  We've  come  from  Bullion- 
ville.  How  long  do  you  think  it  will  take 
you  to  put  us  in  shape?" 

The  smith  was  looking  at  the  children. 
204 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Such  a  trio  of  blue-eyed,  rosy-cheeked,  un- 
alarmed  little  girls  had  never  before  been 
seen  in  Borealis;  and  they  all  looked  back 
at  him  and  the  others  with  the  most  engag- 
ing frankness. 

"Well,  about  how  far  you  goin'?"  said  the 
smith,  by  way  of  answer. 

"  To  Fremont,"  replied  the  stranger.  "  I'm 
a  preacher,  but  they  thought  they  couldn't 
support  a  church  at  Bullionville,"  he  added, 
with  a  look,  half  mirth,  half  worry,  in  his 
eyes.  "However,  a  man  from  Fremont 
loaned  us  the  horses  and  carriage,  so  we 
thought  we'd  move  before  the  snow  fell  any 
deeper.  I'd  like  to  go  on  without  great  de- 
lay, if  the  mending  can  be  hastened." 

"Your  off  horse  needs  shoein',"  said  Web- 
ber, quickly  scanning  every  detail  of  the 
animals  and  vehicle  with  his  practised  eye. 
"  It's  a  long  pull  to  Fremont.  I  reckon  you 
can't  git  started  before  the  day  after  to- 
morrow." 

To  a  preacher  who  had  found  himself  su- 
perfluous, the  thought  of  the  bill  of  expenses 
that  would  heap  up  so  swiftly  here  in  Bor- 
205 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ealis  was  distressing.  He  was  poor;  he  was 
worried.  Like  many  of  the  miners,  he  had 
worked  at  a  claim  that  proved  to  be  worth- 
less in  the  end. 

"I — hoped  it  wouldn't  take  so  long,"  he 
answered,  slowly,  "but  then  I  suppose  we 
shall  be  obliged  to  make  the  best  of  the  situa- 
tion. There  are  stables  where  I  can  put  up 
the  horses,  of  course?" 

"  You  kin  use  two  stalls  of  mine,"  said  the 
teamster,  who  liked  the  looks  of  the  three 
little  girls  as  well  as  those  of  the  somewhat 
shy  little  mother  and  the  preacher  himself. 
"  Boys,  unhitch  his  stock." 

Field,  Bone,  and  the  carpenter,  recently 
made  tender  over  all  of  youngster-kind,  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  unfasten  the  harness. 

"  But — where  are  we  likely  to  find  accom- 
modations?" faltered  the  preacher,  doubt- 
fully. "  Is  there  any  hotel  or  boarding-house 
in  camp?" 

"Well,  not  exactly  —  is  there,  Webber?" 
replied  the  teamster.  "The  boardin' -house 
is  over  to  the  mill — the  quartz-mill,  ten  miles 
down  the  canon." 

206 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"But  I  reckon  they  could  stop  at  Doc's," 
replied  the  smith,  who  had  instantly  deter- 
mined that  three  bright-eyed  little  girls  in 
red  worsted  caps  should  not  be  permitted 
to  leave  Borealis  without  a  visit  first  to  Jim 
and  tiny  Skeezucks.  "Miss  Doc  could  sure 
make  room,  even  if  Doc  had  to  bunk  up  at 
Jim's.  One  of  you  fellers  jest  run  up  and 
ask  her,  quick!  And,  anyway,"  he  added, 
"  Mr.  Preacher,  you  and  the  three  little  girls 
ought  to  see  our  little  boy." 

Field,  who  had  recently  developed  a  tender 
admiration  for  the  heretofore  repellent  Miss 
Doc,  started  immediately. 

He  found  old  Jim  and  the  pup  already  at 
the  house  where  the  tiny,  pale  little  Skee- 
zucks still  had  domicile.  Quickly  relating 
the  news  of  the  hour,  the  messenger  delivered 
his  query  as  to  room  to  be  had,  in  one  long 
gasp  of  breath. 

Miss  Doc  flushed  prettily,  to  think  of  en- 
tertaining a  preacher  and  his  family.  The 
thought  of  the  three  little  girls  set  her  heart 
to  beating  in  a  way  she  could  not  take  the 
time  to  analyze. 

207 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  Of  course,  they  kin  come,  and  welcome," 
she  said.  "I'll  give  'em  all  a  bite  to  eat  di- 
rectly, but  I  don't  jest  see  where  I'll  put  so 
many.  If  John  and  the  preacher  could  both 
go  up  on  the  hill  with  you,  Jim,  I  'low  I 
could  manage." 

"Room  there  for  six,"  said  Jim,  who  felt 
some  singular  stirring  of  excitement  in  his 
veins  at  the  thought  of  having  the  grave 
little  foundling  meet  three  other  children 
here  in  the  camp.  "  I'd  give  him  a  bunk  if 
Keno  and  me  had  to  take  to  the  floor." 

"All  right,  I'll  skedaddle  right  back  there, 
lickety-split,  and  let  'em  know,"  said  Field. 
"  I  knowed  you'd  do  it,  Miss  Doc,"  and  away 
he  went. 

By  the  time  he.  returned  to  the  blacksmith- 
shop  the  horses  were  gone  to  the  stable,  and 
all  the  preacher's  family  and  all  their  bun- 
dles were  out  of  the  carriage.  What  plump- 
legged,  healthy,  inquisitive  youngsters  those 
three  small  girls  appeared  as  they  stood  there 
in  the  snow. 

"All  right!"  said  Field,  as  he  came  to  the 
group,  where  everybody  seemed  already  ac- 
208 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

quaiuted  and  friendly.  "Fixed  up  royal, 
and  ye're  all  expected  right  away." 

"  We  couldn't  leave  the  little  gals  to  walk," 
said  the  blacksmith.  "I'll  carry  this  one  my- 
self," and,  taking  the  largest  of  the  children 
in  his  big,  bare  arms,  he  swung  her  up  with 
a  certain  gesture  of  yearning  not  wholly  un- 
der control. 

"And  I'll—" 

"  And  I'll—  "  came  quickly  from  the  group, 
while  six  or  eight  big  fellows  suddenly  jos- 
tled each  other  in  their  haste  to  carry  a 
youngster.  There  being  but  two  remaining, 
however,  only  two  of  the  men  got  prizes,  and 
Field  felt  particularly  injured  because  he  had 
earned  such  an  honor,  he  felt,  by  running  up 
to  Doc's  to  make  arrangements.  He  and 
several  others  were  obliged  to  be  contented 
with  the  bundles,  not  a  few  of  which  were 
threatened  with  destruction  in  the  eagerness 
of  all  to  be  of  use. 

But  presently  everything  was   adjusted, 

and,  deserting  the  carriage,   the  shop,  and 

everything  else,  the  whole  assemblage  moved 

in  procession  on  the  home  of  the  Dennihans. 

209 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

A  few  minutes  later  little  Skeezucks,  Jim, 
and  the  pup — all  of  them  looking  from  the 
window  of  the  house — saw  those  three  small 
caps  of  red,  and  felt  that  New- Year's  day 
had  really  come  at  last. 


CHAPTER 
XVII 


SKEEZUCKS   GETS  A   NAME 

'HEN  the  three  small  girls,  so  rosy 
of  cheek  and  so  sparkling  of  eye, 
confronted  the  grave  little  pil- 
grim he  could  only  gaze  upon 
them  with  timid  yearning  as  he 
clung  to  his  doll  and  to  old  "  Bruwer  Jim." 
There  never  had  been  in  all  his  life  a  vision 
so  beautiful.  Old  Jim  himself  was  affected 
almost  as  much  as  the  quaint,  wee  man  so 
quietly  standing  at  his  side.  Even  Tinto- 
retto was  experiencing  ecstasies  heretofore 
unknown  in  his  youthful  career. 

Indeed,  no  one  could  have  determined  by 
any  known  system  of  calculation  whether 
Jim  or  tiny  Skeezucks  or  the  pup  most 
enjoyed  the  coming  of  the  preacher  and  his 
family.  Old  Jim  had  certainly  never  before 
undergone  emotions  so  deeply  stirring.  Tin- 

211 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

toretto  had  never  before  beheld  four  young- 
sters affording  such  a  wealth  of  opportunity 
for  puppy-wise  manoeuvres;  indeed,  he  had 
never  before  seen  but  one  little  playfellow 
since  his  advent  in  the  world.  He  was  fairly 
crazed  with  optimism.  As  for  Skeezucks — 
starving  for  even  so  much  as  the  sight  of 
children,  hungering  beyond  expression  for 
the  sound  of  youngster  voices,  for  the  laughter 
and  over-bubblings  of  the  little  folk  with 
whom  by  rights  he  belonged — nothing  in  the 
way  of  words  will  ever  tell  of  the  almost 
overpowering  excitement  and  joy  that  pres- 
ently leaped  in  his  lonely  little  heart. 

Honesty  is  the  children's  policy.  There 
was  nothing  artificial  in  the  way  those  little 
girls  fell  in  love  with  tiny  Skeezucks;  and 
with  equally  engaging  frankness  the  tiny  man 
instantly  revealed  his  fondness  for  them  all. 

They  were  introduced  as  Susie  and  Rachie 
and  Ellie.  Their  other  name  was  Stowe. 
This  much  being  soon  made  known,  the 
three  regarded  their  rights  to  the  house,  to 
little  Skeezucks,  and  to  Tintoretto  as  estab- 
lished. They  secured  the  pup  by  two  of  his 

212 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

paws  and  his  tail,  and,  with  him  thus  in  hand, 
employed  him  to  assist  in  surrounding  tiny 
Skeezucks,  whom  they  promptly  kissed  and 
adopted. 

"Girls,"  said  the  father,  mildly,  "don't 
be  rude." 

"They're  all  right,"  drawled  Jim,  in  a  new 
sort  of  pleasure.  "There  are  some  kinds  of 
rudeness  a  whole  lot  nicer  than  politeness." 

"What's  his  name?"  said  Susie,  lifting  her 
piquant  little  face  up  to  Jim,  whom  all  the 
Stowe  family  had  liked  at  once  "Has  he 
got  any  name?" 

In  a  desperate  groping  for  his  inspiration, 
Jim  thought  instantly  of  all  his  favorites — 
Diogenes,  Plutarch,  Endymion,  Socrates,  Kit 
Carson,  and  Daniel  Boone. 

"Wai,  yes.  His  name—  '  and  there  old 
Jim  halted,  while  "Di"  and  "Plu"  and 
"  Indy  "  and  "  Soc"  all  clamored  in  his  brain 
for  the  honor  "His  name —  I  reckon  his 
name  is  Carson  Boone." 

"  Little  Carson,"  said  Rachie  "  Isn't  Car- 
son a  sweet  little  boy,  mammy?  What's  he 
got — a  rabbit?" 

213 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"That's  his  doll,"  said  Jim. 

"Oh,  papa,  look!"  said  Rachie. 

"Oh,  papa,  look!"  echoed  Susie. 

"Papa,  yook!"  piped  Ellie,  the  youngest, 
who  wanted  the  dolly  for  herself,  and,  there- 
fore, hauled  at  it  lustily. 

The  others  endeavored  to  prevent  her 
depredations.  Between  them  they  tore  the 
precious  creation  from  the  hands  of  the  tiny 
man,  and  released  the  pup,  who  immediate- 
ly leaped  up  and  fastened  a  hold  on  the  doll 
himself,  to  the  horror  of  the  preacher,  Miss 
Doc,  old  Jim,  Mrs  Stowe,  and  Skeezucks,  all 
of  whom,  save  the  newly  christened  little 
Carson,  pounced  upon  the  children,  the  doll, 
and  Tintoretto,  with  one  accord.  And  there 
is  nothing  like  a  pounce  upon  a  lot  of  children 
or  a  pup  to  make  folks  well  acquainted. 

Her  "powder-flask"  ladyship  being  duly 
rescued,  her  raiment  smoothed,  and  her  head 
readjusted  on  her  body,  the  three  small, 
healthy  girls  were  perpetually  enjoined  from 
another  such  exhibition  of  coveting  their 
neighbor's  doll,  whereupon  all  conceived  that 
new  diversion  must  be  forthwith  invented. 
214 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"You  can  have  a  lot  of  fun  with  all  them 
Christmas  presents  in  the  corner,"  Jim  in- 
formed them,  in  the  great  relief  he  felt  him- 
self to  see  the  quaint  little  foundling  once 
more  in  undisputed  possession  of  his  one 
beloved  toy.  "They  'ain't  got  any  feel- 
in's." 

Miss  Doc  had  carefully  piled  the  presents 
in  a  tidy  pyramid  against  the  wall,  in  the  cor- 
ner designated,  after  which  she  had  covered 
the  pile  with  a  sheet.  This  sheet  came  off 
in  a  hurry.  The  pup  filled  his  mouth  with  a 
yard  of  the  white  material,  and,  growling  in 
joy,  shook  it  madly  and  raced  away  with  it 
streaming  in  his  wake.  Miss  Doc  and  Mrs. 
Stowe  gave  chase  immediately.  Tintoretto 
tripped  at  once,  but  even  when  the  women 
had  caught  the  sheet  in  their  hands  he  hung 
on  prodigiously,  and  shook  the  thing,  and 
growled  and  braced  his  weight  against  their 
strength,  to  the  uncontainable  delight  of  all 
the  little  Stowe  contingent. 

Then  they  fell  on  the  presents,  to  which 
they  conveyed  little  Carson,  in  the  intimate 
way  of  hugging  in  transit  that  only  small 
215 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

mothers-to-be   have    ever   been    known    to 
develop. 

"Oh,  papa,  look  at  the  funny  old  bottle!" 
said  Susie,  taking  up  one  of  the  "  sort  of  kali- 
derscopes"  in  her  hand. 

"  Papa,  mamma,  look!"  added  Rachie. 

"Papa — yook!"  piped  Ellie,  as  before,  lay- 
ing violent  hands  of  possession  on  the  toy. 

"You  can  have  it,"  said  Susie;  "  I'm  goin' 
to  have  the  red  wagon." 

"  Oh,  papa,  look  at  the  pretty  red  wagon!" 
said  Rachie,  dropping  another  of  the  kalei- 
doscopes with  commendable  promptness. 

"Me! — yed  yaggon!"  cried  Ellie. 

"Children,  children!"  said  the  preacher, 
secretly  amused  and  entertained .  "  Don '  t  you 
know  the  presents  all  belong  to  little  Carson  ?" 

"  Well,  we  didn't  get  anything  but  mittens 
and  caps,"  said  Rachie,  in  the  baldest  of 
candor. 

"Go  ahead  and  enjoy  the  things,"  in- 
structed Jim.  "  Skeezucks,  do  you  want  the 
little  girls  to  play  with  all  the  things?" 

The  little  fellow  nodded.     He  was  happier 
far  than  ever  he  had  been  in  all  his  life. 
216 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"  But  they  ought  to  play  with  one  thing  at 
a  time,  and  not  drop  one  after  another,"  said 
the  mild  Mrs.  Stowe,  blushing  girlishly. 

"I  like  to  see  them  practise  at  changin' 
their  minds,"  drawled  the  miner,  philosoph- 
ically. "I'd  be  afraid  of  a  little  gal  that 
didn't  begin  to  show  the  symptoms." 

But  all  three  of  the  bright-eyed  embryos  of 
motherhood  had  united  on  a  plan.  They  sat 
the  grave  little  Carson  in  the  red -painted 
wagon,  with  his  doll  held  tightly  to  his  heart, 
and  began  to  haul  him  about. 

Tintoretto,  who  had  dragged  off  an  alpha- 
betical block,  was  engrossed  in  the  task  of 
eating  off  and  absorbing  the  paint  and 
elements  of  education,  with  a  gusto  that 
savored  of  something  that  might  and  might 
not  have  been  ambition.  He  abandoned 
this  at  once,  however,  to  race  beside  or  be- 
hind or  before  the  wagon,  and  to  help  in  the 
pulling  by  laying  hold  of  any  of  the  children's 
dresses  that  came  most  readily  within  reach 
of  his  jaws. 

The  ride  became  a  romp,  for  the  pup  was 
barking,  the  wheels  were  creaking,  and  the 
217 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

three  small  girls  were  crying,  out  and  laugh- 
ing at  the  tops  of  their  voices.  They  drew 
their  royal  coach  through  -every  room  in  the 
house — which  rooms  were  five  in  number— 
and  then  began  anew. 

Back  and  forth  and  up  and  down  they  has- 
tened, the  pup  and  tiny  Skeezucks  growing 
more  and  more  delighted  as  their  lively  lit- 
tle friends  alternately  rearranged  him,  kiss- 
ed him,  crept  on  all  fours  beside  him,  and 
otherwise  added  adornments  to  the  pageant. 
In  an  outburst  of  enthusiasm,  Tintoretto 
made  a  gulp  at  the  off  hind-wheel  of  the  wag- 
on, and,  sinking  his  teeth  in  the  wood  thereof, 
not  only  prevented  its  revolutions,  but  braced 
so  hard  that  the  smallest  girl,  who  was  pull- 
ing at  the  moment,  found,  herself  suddenly 
stalled.  To  her  aid  her  two  sturdy  little  sis- 
ters darted,  and  the  three  gave  a  mighty  tug, 
to  haul  the  pup  and  all. 

But  the  unexpected  happened.  The  wheel 
came  off.  The  pup  let  out  a  yell  of  conster- 
nation and  turned  a  back  somersault;  the 
three  little  Stowes  went  down  in  a  heap  of 
legs  and  heads,  while  the  wagon  lurched 
218 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

abruptly  and  gave  the  tiny  passenger  a  jolt 
that  astonished  him  mightily.  The  three 
small  girls  scrambled  to  their  feet,  awed  into 
silence  by  their  breaking  of  the  wagon. 

For  a  moment  the  hush  was  impressive. 
Then  the  gravity  began  to  go  from  the  face 
of  little  Carson.  Something  was  dancing  in 
his  eyes.  His  quaint  little  face  wrinkled 
oddly  in  mirth.  His  head  went  back,  and  the 
sweetest  conceivable  chuckle  of  baby  laugh- 
ter came  from  his  lips.  Like  joy  of  bubbling 
water  in  a  brook,  it  rippled  in  music  never 
before  awakened.  Old  Jim  and  Miss  Doc 
looked  at  each  other  in  complete  amazement, 
but  the  little  fellow  laughed  and  laughed 
and  laughed.  His  heart  was  overflowing, 
suddenly,  with  all  the  laughing  and  joy  that 
had  never  before  been  invited  to  his  heart. 
The  other  youngsters  joined  him  in  his  merri- 
ment, and  so  did  the  preacher  and  pretty  Mrs. 
Stowe;  and  so  did  Jim  and  Miss  Doc,  but 
these  two  laughed  with  tears  warmly  welling 
from  their  eyes. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  fatherless  and  mother- 
less little  foundling  laughed  for  all  the  days 

IS  2IQ 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

and  weeks  and  months  of  sadness  gone  be- 
yond his  baby  recall.  And  this  was  the 
opening  only  of  his  frolic  and  fun  with  the 
children.  They  kissed  him  in  fondness,  and 
planted  him  promptly  in  a  second  of  the 
wagons.  They  knew  a  hundred  devices  for 
bringing  him  joy  and  merriment,  not  the 
least  important  of  which  was  the  irresistible 
march  of  destruction  on  the  rough-made 
Christmas  treasures. 

That  evening  a  dozen  rough  and  awkward 
men  of  the  camp  came  casually  in  to  visit 
Miss  Doc,  whose  old-time  set  of  thoughts 
and  ideas  had  been  shattered,  till  in  sheer 
despair  of  getting  them  all  in  proper  order 
once  again  she  let  them  go  and  joined  in 
the  general  outbreak  of  amusement. 

There  were  games  of  hide-and-seek,  in 
which  the  four  happy  children  and  the  men 
all  joined  with  equal  irresponsibility,  and 
games  of  blindman's  -  buff ,  that  threatened 
the  breaking  to  pieces  of  the  house.  Through 
it  all,  old  Jim  and  the  preacher,  Mrs.  Stowe 
and  Miss  Doc  were  becoming  more  and  more 
friendly. 

220 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

At  last  the  day  and  the  evening,  too,  were 
gone.  The  tired  youngsters,  all  but  little 
Skeezucks,  fell  asleep,  and  were  tucked  into 
bed.  Even  the  pup  was  exhausted.  Field 
and  the  blacksmith,  Lufkins,  Bone,  Keno, 
and  the  others  thought  eagerly  of  the  mor- 
row, which  would  come  so  soon,  and  go  so 
swiftly,  and  leave  them  with  no  little  trio  of 
girls  romping  with  their  finally  joyous  bit 
of  a  boy. 

When  at  length  they  were  ready  to  say 
good-night  to  tiny  Carson,  he  was  sitting 
again  on  the  knee  of  the  gray  old  miner.  To 
every  one  he  gave  a  sweet  little  smile,  as  they 
took  his  soft,  baby  hand  for  a  shake. 

And  when  they  were  gone,  and  sleep  was 
coming  to  hover  him  softly  in  her  wings,  he 
held  out  both  his  little  arms  in  a  gesture 
of  longing  that  seemed  to  embrace  the  three 
red  caps  and  all  this  happier  world  he  began 
to  understand. 

"Somebody — wants  'ittle — Nu-thans,"  he 
sighed,  and  his  tiny  mouth  was  smiling  when 
his  eyes  had  closed. 


CHAPTER 
XVIII 


WHEN   THE   PARSON   DEPARTED 

"N  the  morning  the  preacher  roll- 
ed up  his  sleeves  and  assisted 
Jim  in  preparing  breakfast  in  the 
cabin  on  the  hill,  where  he  and 
Doc,  in  addition  to  Keno  and  the 
miner,  had  spent  the  night.  Doc  had  de- 
parted at  an  early  hour  to  take  his  morning 
meal  at  home.  Keno  was  out  in  the  brush 
securing  additional  fuel,  the  supply  of  which 
was  low. 

"Jim,"  said  Stowe,  in  the  easy  way  so 
quickly  adopted  in  the  mines,  "how  does  the 
camp  happen  to  have  this  one  little  child? 
There  seem  to  be  no  families,  and  that  I 
can  understand,  for  Bullion ville  is  much  the 
same ;  but  where  did  you  get  the  pretty  little 
boy?" 

"  I  found  him  out  in  the  brush,  way  over 
222 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

to  Coyote  Valley,"  Jim  replied.  "He  was 
painted  up  to  look  like  a  little  Piute,  and  the 
Injuns  must  have  lost  him  when  they  went 
through  the  valley  hunting  rabbits." 

"  Found  him — out  in  the  brush?"  repeated 
the  preacher.  "  Was  he  all  alone?" 

"  Not  quite.  He  had  several  dead  rabbits 
for  company,"  Jim  drawled  in  reply,  and  he 
told  all  that  was  known,  and  all  that  the 
camp  had  conjectured,  concerning  the  find- 
ing of  the  grave  little  chap,  and  his  brief 
and  none  too  happy  sojourn  in  Borealis. 

The  preacher  listened  with  sympathetic 
attention. 

"Poor  little  fellow,"  he  said,  at  the  end. 
"  It  someway  makes  me  think  of  a  thing 
that  occurred  near  Bullionville.  I  was  call- 
ed to  Giant-Powder  Gulch  to  give  a  man  a 
decent  burial.  He  had  been  on  a  three-days' 
spree,  and  then  had  lain  all  night  in  the  wet 
where  the  horse-trough  overflowed,  and  he 
died  of  quick  pneumonia.  Well,  a  man  there 
told  me  the  fellow  was  a  stranger  to  the 
Gulch.  He  said  the  dissolute  creature  had 
appeared,  on  the  first  occasion,  with  a  very 
223 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

small  child,  a  little  boy,  who  he  said  had 
belonged  to  his  sister,  who  was  dead.  My 
informant  said  that  just  as  soon  as  the  fellow 
could  learn  the  location  of  a  near-by  Indian 
camp  he  had  carried  the  little  boy  away. 
The  man  who  told  me  of  it  never  heard  of 
the  child  again,  and,  in  fact,  had  not  been 
aware  of  the  drunkard's  return  to  the  Gulch, 
till  he  heard  the  man  had  died,  in  the  rear  of 
a  highly  notorious  saloon.  I  wonder  if  it's 
possible  this  quiet  little  chap  is  the  same  lit- 
tle boy." 

"  It  don't  seem  possible  a  livin'  man — a 
white  man — could  have  done  a  thing  like 
that,"  said  Jim. 

"  No — it  doesn't,"  Stowe  agreed. 

"And  yet,  it  must  have  been  in  some  such 
way  little  Skeezucks  came  to  be  among  the 
Injuns,"  Jim  reflected,  aloud.  Then  in  a  mo- 
ment he  added:  "I'm  glad  you  told  me, par- 
son. I  know  now  the  low-down  brute  that 
sent  him  off  with  the  Piute  hunters  can't 
never  come  to  Borealis  and  take  him  away." 

And  yet,  all  through  their  homely  break- 
fast old  Jim  was  silently  thinking.  A  newer 
224 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

tenderness  for  the  innocent,  deserted  little 
pilgrim  was  welling  in  his  heart. 

Keno,  having  declared  his  intention  of 
shovelling  off  the  snow  and  opening  up  a 
trench  to  uncover  the  gold-ledge  of  the  min- 
er's claim,  departed  briskly  when  the  meal 
was  presently  finished.  Jim  and  the  preach- 
er,, with  the  pup,  however,  went  at  once  to 
the  home  of  Miss  Dennihan,  where  the  chil- 
dren were  all  thus  early  engaged  in  starting 
off  the  day  of  romping  and  fun. 

The  lunch  that  came  along  at  noon,  and 
the  dinner  that  the  happy  Miss  Doc  prepared 
at  dusk,  were  mere  interruptions  in  the  play 
of  the  tiny  Carson  and  the  lively  little  girls. 

There  never  has  been,  and  there  never  can 
be,  a  measure  of  childish  happiness,  but  sure- 
ly never  was  a  child  in  the  world  more  happy 
than  the  quaint  little  waif  who  had  sat  all 
alone  that  bright  November  afternoon  in 
the  brush  where  the  Indian  pony  had  drop- 
ped him.  All  the  games  they  had  tried  on 
the  previous  day  were  repeated  anew  by  the 
youngsters,  and  many  freshly  invented  were 
enjoyed,  including  a  romp  in  the  snow,  with 
225 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

the  sled  that  one  of  the  miners  had  fashioned 
for  the  Christmas-tree. 

That  evening  a  larger  contingent  of  the 
men  who  hungered  for  the  atmosphere  of 
home  came  early  to  the  little  house  and 
joined  in  the  games.  Laughter  made  them 
all  one  human  family,  and  songs  were  sung 
that  took  them  back  to  farms  and  clearings 
and  villages,  far  away  in  the  Eastern  States, 
where  sweethearts,  mothers,  wives,  and  sis- 
ters ofttimes  waited  and  waited  for  news  of 
a  wanderer,  lured  far  away  by  the  glint  of 
silver  and  gold.  The  notes  of  birds,  the 
chatter  of  brooks,  the  tinkle  of  cow -bells 
came  again,  with  the  dreams  of  a  barefoot 
boy. 

Something  of  calm  and  a  newer  hope  and 
fresher  resolution  was  vouchsafed  to  them  all 
when  the  wholesome  young  preacher  held 
a  homely  service,  in  response  to  their  earnest 
request. 

"Life  is  a  mining  for  gold,"  said  he,  "and 

every  human  breast  is  a  mother-lode  of  the 

precious  metal — if  only  some  one  can  find 

the  out-croppings,  locate  a  claim,  and  come 

226 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

upon  the  ledge.  There  are  toils,  privations, 
and  sufferings,  which  the  search  for  gold 
brings  forever  in  its  train.  There  are  pains 
and  miseries  and  woe  in  the  search  for  the 
gold  in  men,  but,  boys,  it's  a  glorious  life! 
There  is  something  so  honest,  so  splendid,  in 
taking  the  metal  from  the  earth !  No  one  is 
injured,  every  one  is  helped.  And  when  the 
gold  in  a  man  is  found,  think  what  a  gift  it  is 
to  the  world  and  to  God !  I  am  a  miner  my- 
self, but  I  make  no  gold.  It  is  there,  in  the 
hill,  or  in  the  man,  where  God  has  put  it 
away,  and  all  that  you  and  I  can  do  is  to 
work,  though  our  hands  be  blistered  and 
our  hearts  be  sore,  until  we  come  upon  the 
treasure  at  the  last.  We  hasten  here,  and  we 
scramble  there,  wheresoever  the  glint  seems 
brightest,  the  field  most  promising;  but  the 
gold  I  seek  is  everywhere,  and,  boys,  there  is 
gold  on  gold  in  Borealis! 

"  In  the  depth  of  the  tunnel  or  the  shaft 
you  need  a  candle,  throwing  out  its  welcome 
rays,  to  show  you  how  to  work  the  best  and 
where  to  dig,  as  you  follow  the  lead.  In  the 
search  for  gold  the  way  is  very  often  dark, 
227 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

so  we'll  sing  a  hymn  that  I  think  you  will  like, 
and  then  we'll  conclude  with  a  prayer. 

"Children — girls — we  will  all  start  it  off 
together,  you  and  your  mother  and  me." 

The  three  little,  bright -faced  girls,  the 
pretty  mother,  and  the  father  of  the  little 
flock  stood  there  together  to  sing.  They 
sang  the  hymn  old  Jim  had  attempted  to 
recall  at  his  own  little  service  that  Sunday, 
weeks  before: 

"Lead,  Kindly  Light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom, 

Lead  Thou  me  on. 
The  night  is  dark  and  I  am  far  from  home. 

Lead  Thou  me  on. 

Keep  Thou  my  feet;  I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene;  one  step  enough  for  me." 

The  fresh,  sweet  voices  of  the  three  little 
girls  sent  a  thrill  of  pleasure  through  the 
hearts  of  the  big,  rough  men,  and  the  lumps 
arose  in  their  throats.  One  after  another 
they  joined  in  the  singing,  those  who  knew 
no  words  as  well  as  those  who  were  quick  to 
catch  a  line  or  more. 

Then  at  last  the  preacher  held  up  his  hand 
in  his  earnest  supplication. 
228 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

"Father,"  he  said,  in  his  simple  way,  "we 
are  only  a  few  of  Thy  children,  here  in  the 
hollow  of  Thy  mountains,  but  we  wish  to 
share  in  the  beauty  of  Thy  smile.  We  want 
to  hear  the  comfort  of  Thy  voice.  Away  out 
here  in  the  sage-brush  we  pray  that  Thou 
wilt  find  us  and  take  us  home  to  Thy  heart 
and  love.  Father,  when  Thou  sendest  Thy 
blessing  for  this  little  child,  send  enough  for 
all  the  boys.  Amen." 

And  so  the  evening  ended,  and  the  night 
moved  in  majesty  across  the  mountains. 

In  the  morning,  soon  after  breakfasts  were 
eaten,  and  Jim  and  the  preacher  had  come 
again  to  the  home  of  the  Dennihans,  Webber, 
the  blacksmith,  and  Lufkins,  the  teamster, 
presently  arrived  with  the  horses  and  car- 
riage. 

A  large  group  of  men  swiftly  gathered  to 
bid  good-bye  to  the  children,  the  shy  little 
mother,  ancj  the  fine  young  preacher. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  go,"  he  told  them,  honestly. 
"  I  like  your  little  camp." 

"It's  goin'  to  be  a  rousin'  town  pretty 
soon,  by  jinks!"  said  Keno,  pulling  at  his 
229 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

sleeves.  "I'm  showin'  up  a  great  big  ledge 
on  Jim's  Baberlonian  claim." 

"Mebbe  you'll  some  day  come  back  here, 
parson,"  said  the  smith. 

"Perhaps  I  shall,"  he  answered.  Then  a 
faint  look  of  worry  came  on  his  face  as  he 
thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket.  "  Before  I 
forget  it,  you  must  let  me  know  what  my  bill 
is  for  board  of  the  horses  and  also  for  the 
work  you've  done." 

Webber  flushed  crimson. 

"There  ain't  no  bill,"  he  said.  "What 
do  you  take  us  fellers  fer — since  little  Skee- 
zucks  came  to  camp?  All  we  want  is  to 
shake  hands  all  'round,  with  you  and  the 
missus  and  the  little  girls." 

Old  Jim,  little  Skeezucks,  the  pup,  and 
Miss  Doc,  with  Mrs.  Stowe,  came  out  through 
the  snow  to  the  road  in  front  of  the  gate. 
Not  a  penny  had  the  preacher  been  able  to 
force  upon  the  Dennihans  for  their  lodging 
and  care. 

The  man  tried  to  speak — to  thank  them 
all,  but  he  failed.  He  shook  hands  "all 
around,"  however,  and  then  his  shy  little 
230 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

wife  and  the  three  little  girls  did  the  same. 
Preacher  and  all,  they  kissed  tiny  Carson, 
sitting  on  the  arm  he  knew  so  well,  and  hold- 
ing fast  to  his  doll ;  and  he  placed  his  wee  bit 
of  a  hand  on  the  face  of  each  of  his  bright- 
faced  little  friends.  He  understood  almost 
nothing  of  what  it  meant  to  have  his  visitors 
clamber  into  the  carriage,  nevertheless  a 
grave  little  query  came  into  his  eyes. 

"Well,  Jim,  good-bye  again,"  said  Stowe, 
and  he  shook  the  old  miner's  hand  a  final 
time.  "Good-bye,  Miss  Dennihan  —  good- 
bye, boys." 

With  all  the  little  youngsters  in  their 
bright  red  caps  waving  their  mittened  hands 
and  calling  out  good-bye,  the  awkward  men, 
Miss  Doc,  old  Jim,  and  tiny  Skeezucks  saw 
them  drive  away.  Till  they  came  to  the 
bend  of  the  road  the  children  continued  to 
wave,  and  then  the  great  ravine  received 
them  as  if  to  the  arms  of  the  mountains. 


CHAPTER 
XIX 


OLD  JIM'S   RESOLUTION 

"LL  that  day  little  Skeezucks  and 
the  pup  were  waiting,  listening, 
expecting  the  door  to  open  and 
the  three  small  girls  to  reap- 
pear. They  went  to  the  win- 
dow time  after  time  and  searched  the  land- 
scape of  mountains  and  snow,  Tintoretto 
standing  on  his  hind -legs  for  the  purpose, 
and  emitting  little  sounds  of  puppy -wise 
worry  at  the  long  delay  of  their  three  little 
friends. 

A  number  of  the  men  of  the  camp  came  to 
visit  there  again  that  evening. 

"We  thought  little  Skeezucks  might  be 
lonesome,"  they  explained. 

So  often  as  the  door  was  opened,  the  pup 
and  the  grave  little   pilgrim — clothed  these 
days  in  the  little  white  frock  Miss  Dennihan 
232 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

had  made — looked  up,  ever  in  the  hope  of 
espying  again  those  three  red  caps.  The 
men  saw  the  wistfulness  increase  in  the 
baby's  face. 

"We've  got  to  keep  him  amused,"  said 
Field. 

The  awkward  fellows,  therefore,  began  the 
games,  and  romped  about,  and  rode  the  lone- 
ly little  foundling  in  the  wagon,  to  the  great 
delight  of  poor  Miss  Doc,  who  felt,  as  much 
as  the  pup  or  Skeezucks,  the  singular  empti- 
ness of  her  house. 

Having  learned  to  laugh,  little  Carson  tried 
to  repeat  the  delights  of  a  mirthful  emotion. 
The  faint  baby  smile  that  resulted  made  the 
men  all  quiet  and  sober. 

"He's  tired,  that's  what  the  matter,"  the 
blacksmith  explained.  "We'd  better  be 
goin',  boys,  and  come  to  see  him  to-mor- 
row." 

"Of  course  he  must  be  tired,"  agreed  the 
teamster. 

But  Jim,  sitting  silently  watching,  and  the 
fond  Miss  Doc,  whom  nothing  concerning  the 
child  escaped,  knew  better.  It  was  not,  how- 
233 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

ever,  till  the  boys  were  gone  and  silence  had 
settled  on  the  house  that  even  Jim  was  made 
aware  of  the  all  that  the  tiny  mite  of  a  man 
was  undergoing.  Miss  Doc  had  gone  to  the 
kitchen.  Jim,  Tintoretto,  and  little  Skee- 
zucks  were  alone.  The  little  fellow  and  the 
pup  were  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  floor, 
intently  listening.  Together  they  went  to 
the  door.  There  little  Carson  stretched  his 
tiny  arms  across  the  panels  in  baby  appeal. 

"Bruv-ver  —  Jim,"  he  begged.  "  Bruv- 
ver — Jim." 

Then,  at  last,  the  gray  old  miner  under- 
stood the  whole  significance  of  the  baby 
words.  "Bruvver  Jim"  meant  more  than 
just  himself;  it  meant  the  three  little  girls- 
associates — children — all  that  is  dear  to  a 
childish  heart — all  that  is  indispensable  to 
baby  happiness — all  that  a  lonely  little  heart 
must  have  or  starve. 

Jim  groaned,  for  the  utmost  he  could  do 
was  done  when  he  took  the  sobbing  little 
fellow  in  his  arms  and  murmured  him  words 
of  comfort  as  he  carried  him  up  and  down 
the  room.  , 

234 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

The  day  that  followed,  and  the  day  after 
that,  served  only  to  deepen  the  longing  in  the 
childish  breast.  The  worried  men  of  Bore- 
alis  played  on  the  floor  in  desperation.  They 
fashioned  new  wagons,  sleds,  and  dolls; 
they  exhausted  every  device  their  natures 
prompted ;  but  beyond  a  sad  little  smile  and 
the  call  for  "  Bruvver  Jim"  they  received 
no  answer  from  the  baby  heart. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  the  little  fellow 
smiled  no  more,  not  even  in  his  faint,  sweet 
way  of  yearning.  His  heart  was  starving; 
his  grave,  baby  thought  was  far  away,  with 
the  small  red  caps  and  the  laughing  voices 
of  children. 

The  fond  Miss  Doc  and  the  gray  old  Jim 
alone  knew  what  the  end  must  be,  inevitably, 
unless  some  change  should  speedily  come  to 
pass. 

Meantime,  Keno  had  quietly  opened  up  a 
mighty  ledge  of  gold-bearing  ore  on  the  hill. 
It  lay  between  walls  of  slate  and  granite. 
Its  hugeness  was  assured.  That  the  camp 
would  boom  in  the  spring  was  foreordained. 
And  that  ledge  all  belonged  to  Jim.  But 
"  235 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

he  heard  them  excitedly  tell  what  the  find 
would  do  for  him  and  the  camp  as  one  in  a 
dream.  He  could  not  care  while  his  tiny 
waif  was  starving  in  his  lonely  little  way. 

"Boys,"  he  said  at  last,  one  night,  when 
the  smith  and  Bone  had  called  to  see  the  tiny 
man,  who  had  sadly  gone  to  sleep — "boys, 
he's  pinin'.  He's  goin'  to  die  if  he  don't 
have  little  kids  for  company.  I've  made  up 
my  mind.  I'm  goin'  to  take  him  to  Fre- 
mont right  away." 

Miss  Doc,  who  was  knitting  a  tiny  pair  of 
mittens  and  planning  a  tiny  red  cap  and 
woollen  leggings,  dropped  a  stitch  and  lost  a 
shade  of  color  from  her  face. 

"Ain't  there  no  other  way?"  inquired  the 
blacksmith,  a  poignant  regret  already  at  his 
heart.  "  You  don't  really  think  he'd  up  and 
die?" 

"Children  have  got  to  be  happy,"  Jim  re- 
plied. "If  they  don't  get  their  fun  when 
they're  little,  why,  when  is  it  ever  goin'  to 
come?  I  know  he'll  die,  all  alone  with  us  old 
cusses,  and  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  wait." 

"  But  the  claim  is  goin'  to  be  a  fortune," 
236 


BRUVVER  JIM'S   BABY 

said  Bone.  "Couldn't  you  hold  on  jest  a 
week  or  two  and  see  if  he  won't  get  over 
thinkin'  'bout  the  little  gals?" 

"  If  I  kept  him  here  and  he  died,  like  that 
—just  pinin'  away  for  other  little  kids — I 
couldn't  look  fortune  in  the  face,"  answered 
Jim,  to  which,  in  a  moment,  he  added,  slow- 
ly, "  Boys,  he's  more  to  me  than  all  the  claims 
in  Nevada." 

"  But — you'll  bring  him  back  in  the  spring, 
of  course?"  said  the  blacksmith,  with  a  wor- 
ried look  about  his  eyes.  "We'd  miss  him, 
Jim,  almost  as  much  as  you." 

"  By  that  time,"  supplemented  Bone,  "the 
camp's  agoin'  to  be  boomin'.  Probably  we'll 
have  lots  of  wimmen  and  kids  and  schools 
and  everything,  fer  the  gold  up  yonder  is  goin' 
to  make  Borealis  some  consid'rable  shakes." 

"I'll  bring  him  back  in  the  spring,  all 
right,"  said  the  miner ; "  but  none  of  you  boys 
would  want  to  see  me  keep  him  here  and 
have  him  die." 

Miss  Doc  had  been  a  silent  listener  to  all 
their  conversation.  She  was  knitting  again, 
with  doubled  speed. 

237 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Jim,  how  you  goin'?"  she  now  inquired. 

"I  want  to  get  a  horse,"  answered  Jim. 
"  We  could  ride  there  horseback  quicker  than 
any  other  way.  If  only  I  can  get  the 
horse." 

"It  may  be  stormin'  in  the  mornin'," 
Webber  suggested.  "  A  few  clouds  is  comin' 
up  from  the  West.  What  about  the  horse, 
Jim,  if  it  starts  to  snow?" 

"Riding  in  a  saddle,  I  can  git  through," 
said  the  miner.  "  If  it  snows  at  all,  it  won't 
storm  bad.  Storms  that  come  up  sudden 
never  last  very  long,  and  it's  been  good  and 
bright  all  day.  I'll  start  unless  it's  snowin' 
feather-beds." 

Miss  Doc  had  been  feeling,  since  the  sub- 
ject first  was  broached,  that  something  in  her 
heart  would  snap.  But  she  worked  on,  her 
emotions,  yearnings,  and  fears  all  rigorously 
knitted  into  the  tiny  mittens. 

"You'll  let  me  wrap  him  up  real  warm?" 
she  said. 

Jim  knew  her  thoughts  were  all  on  little 
Skeezucks. 

"  If  you  didn't  do  it,  who  would?"  he  ask- 
238 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

ed,  in  a  kindness  of  heart  that  set  her  pulse 
to  faster  beating. 

"  But — s'pose  you  don't  git  any  job  in 
Fremont,"  Bone  inquired.  "Will  you  let  us 
know?" 

"I'll  git  it,  don't  you  fear,"  said  Jim.  " I 
know  there  ain't  no  one  so  blind  as  the  feller 
who's  always  lookin'  for  a  job,  but  the  little 
kid  has  fetched  me  a  sort  of  second  sight." 

"Well,  if  anything  was  goin'  hard,  we'd 
like  for  to  know,"  insisted  Bone.  "I  guess 
we'd  better  start  along,  though,  now,  if  we're 
goin'  to  scare  up  a  bronch  to-night." 

He  and  the  blacksmith  departed.  Jim 
and  the  lorn  Miss  Doc  sat  silently  together 
in  the  warm  little  house.  Jim  looked  at  her 
quietly,  and  saw  many  phases  of  womanly 
beauty  in  her  homely  face. 

"Wai,"  he  drawled,  at  last,  "I'll  go  up 
home,  on  the  hill."  He  hesitated  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  added,  quietly,  "Miss  Doc, 
you've  been  awful  kind  to  the  little  boy — 
and  me." 

"It  wasn't  nuthin',"  she  said. 

They  stood  there  together,  beside  the  table. 

239 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

"Yes,  it  was,"  said  Jim,  "and  it's  set  me 
to  thinkin'  a  heap."  He  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  as  before,  and  then,  somewhat  shy- 
ly for  him,  he  said,  "When  we  come  back 
home  here,  in  the  spring,  Miss  Doc,  I'm 
thinkin'  the  little  feller  ought  to  have  a 
mother.  Do  you  think  you  could  put  up 
with  him — and  with  me?" 

"Jim,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  shook  with 
emotion,  "do  you  think  I'm  a  kind  enough 
woman?" 

"Too  kind  —  for  such  as  me,"  said  Jim, 
thickly.  He  took  her  hand  in  his  own,  and 
with  something  of  a  courtliness  and  grace, 
reminiscent  of  his  youth,  he  raised  it  to  his 
lips.  "Good-night,"  he  said.  "Good-night, 
Miss  Doc." 

"Good-night,  Jim,"  she  answered,  and  he 
saw  in  her  eyes  the  beauty  that  God  in  his 
wisdom  gives  alone  to  mother-kind. 

And  when  he  had  gone  she  sat  there  long, 
forgetting  to  keep  up  the  fire,  forgetting  that 
Doc  himself  would  come  home  early  in  the 
morning  from  his  night -employment,  forget- 
ting everything  personal  save  the  words  old 
240 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Jim  had  spoken,  as  she  knitted  and  knitted, 
to  finish  that  tiny  pair  of  mittens. 

The  night  was  spent,  and  her  heart  was  at 
once  glad  and  sore  when,  at  last,  she  con- 
cluded her  labor  of  love.  Nevertheless,  in 
the  morning  she  was  up  in  time  to  prepare 
a  luncheon  for  Jim  to  take  along,  and  to 
delve  in  her  trunk  for  precious  wraps  and 
woollens  in  which  to  bundle  the  grave  little 
pilgrim,  long  before  old  Jim  or  the  horse 
he  would  ride  had  appeared  before  the 
house. 

Little  Skeezucks  was  early  awake  and 
dressed.  A  score  of  times  Miss  Doc  caught 
him  up  in  her  hungering  arms,  to  hold  him 
in  fervor  to  her  heart  and  to  kiss  his  baby 
cheek.  If  she  cried  a  little,  she  made  it 
sound  and  look  like  laughter  to  the  child. 
He  patted  her  face  with  his  tiny  hand,  even 
as  he  begged  for  "  Bruvver  Jim." 

"You're  goin'  to  find  Bruwer  Jim,"  she 
said.  "You're  goin'  away  from  fussy  old 
me  to  where  you'll  be  right  happy." 

At  least  a  dozen  men  of  the  camp  came 
plodding  along  behind  the  horse,  that  arrived 
241 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

at  the  same  time  Jim,  the  pup,  and  Keno  ap- 
peared at  the  Dennihan  home. 

Doc  Dennihan  had  cut  off  his  customary 
period  of  rest  and  sleep,  to  say  good-bye,  with 
the  others,  to  the  pilgrims  about  to  depart. 

Jim  was  dressed  about  as  usual  for  the 
ride,  save  that  he  wore  an  extra  pair  of  trou- 
sers beneath  his  overalls  and  a  great  blan- 
ket-coat upon  his  back.  He  was  hardy,  and 
he  looked  it,  big  as  he  was  and  solidly  planted 
in  his  wrinkled  boots. 

The  sky,  despite  Webber's  predictions  of 
a  storm,  was  practically  free  from  clouds, 
but  a  breeze  was  sweeping  through  the  gorge 
with  increasing  strength.  It  was  cold,  and 
the  men  who  stood  about  in  groups  kept 
their  hands  in  their  pockets  and  their  feet 
on  the  move  for  the  sake  of  the  slight  degree 
of  warmth  thereby  afforded. 

As  their  spokesman,  Webber,  the  black- 
smith, took  the  miner  aside. 

"Jim,"    said   he,    producing    a   buckskin 

bag,  which  he  dropped  in  the  miner's  pocket, 

"the  boys  can't  do  nuthin'  fer  little  Skee- 

zucks  when  he's  'way  off  up  to  Fremont,  so 

242 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

they've  chipped  in  a  little  and  wanted  you 
to  have  it  in  case  of  need." 

"But,  Webber—"  started  Jim. 

"Ain't  no  buts,"  interrupted  the  smith. 
"You'll  hurt  their  feelin's  if  you  go  to  but- 
tin'  and  gittin'  ornary." 

Wherefore  the  heavy  little  bag  of  coins 
remained  where  Webber  had  placed  it. 

There  were  sober  words  of  caution  and  ad- 
vice, modest  requests  for  a  line  now  and 
then,  and  many  an  evidence  of  the  hold  old 
Jim  had  secured  on  their  hearts  before  the 
miner  finally  received  the  grave  and  careful- 
ly bundled  little  Carson  from  the  arms  of 
Miss  Doc  and  came  to  the  gate  to  mount  his 
horse  and  ride  away. 

"Jest  buckle  this  strap  around  me  and  the 
little  boy,"  instructed  Jim,  as  he  gave  a  wide 
leather  belt  to  the  teamster;  "then  if  I  hap- 
pen for  to  need  both  hands,  he  won't  be  able 
to  git  a  fall." 

The  strap  was  adjusted  about  the  two  in 
the  manner  suggested. 

"Good  scheme,"  commented  Field,   and 
the  others  agreed  that  it  was. 
243 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Then  all  the  rough  and  awkward  big  fel- 
lows soberly  shook  the  pretty  little  pilgrim's 
hand  in  its  mitten,  and  said  good-bye  to  the 
tiny  chap,  who  was  clinging,  as  always,  to 
his  doll. 

"  What  you  goin'  to  do  with  Tinterretter?" 
inquired  the  teamster  as  he  looked  at  the 
pup,  while  Jim,  with  an  active  swing,  mount- 
ed to  the  saddle. 

"Take  him  along,"  said  Jim.  "I'll  put 
him  in  the  sack  I've  got,  and  tie  him  on  be- 
hind the  saddle  when  he  gits  too  much  of 
runnin'  on  foot.  He  wouldn't  like  it  to  be 
left  behind  and  Skeezucks  gone." 

"Guess  that's  kerrect,"  agreed  the  team- 
ster. "He's  a  bully  pup,  you  bet." 

Poor  Miss  Doc  remained  inside  the  gate. 
Her  one  mad  impulse  was  to  run  to  Jim, 
clasp  him  and  the  grave  little  waif  in  her 
arms,  and  beg  to  be  taken  on  the  horse.  But 
repression  had  long  been  her  habit  of  life. 
She  smiled,  and  did  not  even  speak,  though 
the  eyes  of  the  fond  little  pilgrim  were  turn- 
ed upon  her  in  baby  affection. 

"Well— you'll  git  there  all  right,"  said  the 
244 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

blacksmith,  voicing  the  hope  that  swelled  in 
his  heart.  "So  long,  and  let  us  know  how 
the  little  feller  makes  it  with  the  children." 

"By  jinks! — so  long,"  said  Keno,  striving 
tremendously  to  keep  down  his  rising  emo- 
tions. "So  long.  I'll  stay  by  the  claim." 

"And  give  our  love  to  them  three  little 
gals,"  said  Bone.  "  So  long." 

One  after  another  they  wrung  the  big, 
rough  hand,  and  said  "So  long"  in  their 
easy  way. 

"'Bye,  Miss  Doc,"  said  Jim,  at  the  last. 
"Skeezucks — say  good-bye — to  Miss  Doc— 
and  all  the  boys.  Say  good-bye." 

The  little  fellow  had  heard  "good-bye" 
when  the  three  little  caps  of  red  departed. 
It  came  as  a  word  that  hurt  his  tiny  heart. 
But,  obediently,  he  looked  about  at  all  his 
friends. 

"Dood-bye,"  he  said,  in  baby  accents. 
"Dood-bye." 


CHAPTER 
XX 


IN   THE   TOILS  OF  THE   BLIZZARD 

SOMETHING  was  tugged  and 
wrenched  mighty  hard  as  Jim 
rode  finally  around  the  hill,  and 
so  out  of  sight  of  the  meagre  lit- 
tle camp  he  called  his  home,  but 
resolution  was  strong, within  him.  Up  and 
up  through  the  narrow  canon,  winding  tort- 
uously towards  the  summit,  like  the  trail  of 
a  most  prodigious  serpent  channelled  in  the 
snow,  the  horse  slowly  climbed,  with  Tin- 
toretto, the  joyous,  busily  visiting  each  and 
every  portion  of  the  road,  behind,  before, 
and  at  the  sides. 

What  a  world  of  white  it  was!  The  wind 
had  increased,  and  a  few  scattered  specks  of 
snow  that  sped  before  it  seemed  trying  to 
muster  the  force  of  a  storm,  from  the  sky  in 
which  the  sun  was  still  shining,  between  huge 
246 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

rents  and  spaces  that  separated  scudding 
clouds. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  an  hour  had  gone 
that  the  flakes  began  to  swirl  in  fitful  flurries. 
By  then  the  travellers  were  making  better 
time,  and  Jim  was  convinced  the  blotted  sun 
would  soon  again  assert  its  mastery  over 
clouds  so  abruptly  accumulated  in  the  sky. 
The  wind,  however,  had  veered  about.  It 
came  directly  in  their  faces,  causing  the 
horse  to  lower  his  head  and  the  pup  to  sniff 
in  displeasure. 

Little  Skeezucks,  with  his  back  to  the 
slanting  fire  of  small,  hard  flakes,  nestled  in 
comfort  on  the  big,  protecting  shoulder, 
where  he  felt  secure  against  all  manner  of 
attack. 

For  two  more  hours  they  rode  ahead,  while 
the  snow  came  down  somewhat  thicker. 

"  It  can't  last,"  old  Jim  said,  cheerily,  to 
the  child  and  horse  and  pup.  "Just  a  blow- 
out. Too  fierce  and  sudden  to  hold." 

Yet,  when  they  came  to  the  great  level 
valley  beyond  the  second  range  of  hills,  the 
biting  gale  appeared  to  greet  them  with  a 
247 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

fury  pent  up  for  the  purpose.  Unobstructed 
it  swept  across  the  desert  of  snow,  flinging 
not  only  the  shotlike  particles  from  the  sky, 
but  also  the  loose,  roving  drift,  as  dry  as  salt, 
that  lay  four  inches  deep  upon  the  solider 
snow  that  floored  the  plain.  And  such  miles 
and  miles  of  the  frozen  waste  were  there! 
The  distant  mountains  looked  like  huge  wind- 
rows of  snow  wearing  away  in  the  rush  of  the 
gale. 

Confident  still  it  was  only  a  flurry,  Jim 
rode  on.  The  pup  by  now  was  trailing  be- 
hind, his  tail  less  high,  his  fuzzy  coat  begin- 
ning to  fill  with  snow,  his  eyes  so  pelted  that 
he  sneezed  to  keep  them  clear. 

The  air  was  cold  and  piercing  as  it  drove 
upon  them.  Jim  felt  his  feet  begin  to  ache 
in  his  hard,  leather  boots.  Beneath  his  cloth- 
ing the  chill  lay  thinly  against  his  body,  save 
for  the  place  where  little  Carson  was  strap- 
ped to  his  breast. 

"  It  can't  last,"  the  man  insisted.  "  Never 
yet  saw  a  blusterin'  storm  that  didn't  blow 
itself  to  nothin'  in  a  hurry." 

But  a  darkness  was  flung  about  them  with 
248 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

the  thicker  snow  that  flew.  Indeed,  the 
flakes  were  multiplying  tremendously.  The 
wind  was  becoming  a  hurricane.  With  a 
roar  it  rushed  across  the  valley.  The  world 
of  storm  suddenly  closed  in  upon  them  and 
narrowed  down  the  visible  circle  of  desola- 
tion. Like  hurrying  troops  of  incalculable 
units,  the  dots  of  frozen  stuff  went  sweeping 
past  in  a  blinding  swarm. 

The  thing  had  become  a  blizzard.  Jim 
halted  his  horse,  convinced  that  wisdom 
prompted  them  to  turn  their  backs  upon  the 
fury  and  flee  again  to  Borealis,  to  await  a 
calmer  day  for  travelling.  A  fiercer  buffet- 
ing of  wind  puffed  from  the  west,  fiercely 
toothed  with  shot  of  snow.  As  if  in  fear  un- 
namable,  a  gaunt  coyote  suddenly  appear- 
ed scurrying  onward  before  the  hail  and 
snow,  and  was  quickly  gone. 

The  horse  shied  violently  out  of  the  road. 
The  girth  of  the  saddle  was  loosened.  With 
a  superhuman  effort  old  Jim  remained  in  his 
seat,  but  he  knew  he  must  tighten  the  cinch. 

Dismounting,  he  permitted  the  horse  to 
face  away  from  the  gale.  The  pup  came 
249 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

gladly  to  the  shelter  of  the  miner's  boots 
and  clambered  stiffly  up  on  his  leg,  for  a 
word  of  companionship  and  comfort. 

"All  right,"  said  Jim,  giving  him  a  pat  on 
the  head  when  the  saddle  was  once  more 
secure  in  its  place;  "but  I  reckon  we'll  turn 
back  homeward,  and  I'll  walk  myself,  for  a 
spell,  to  warm  me  up.  It  may  let  up,"  and 
if  it  does  we  can  head  for  Fremont  again 
without  much  loss  of  time." 

With  the  bridle-rein  over  his  shoulder,  he 
led  the  horse  back  the  way  they  had  come, 
his  own  head  low  on  his  breast,  to  avoid  the 
particles  of  snow  that  searched  him  out  per- 
sistently. 

They  had  not  plodded  homeward  far  when 
the  miner  presently  discovered  they  were 
floundering  about  in  snow -covered  brush. 
He  quickly  lifted  his  head  to  look  about. 
He  could  see  for  a  distance  of  less  than  twenty 
feet  in  any  direction.  Mountains,  plain — 
the  world  of  white— had  disappeared  in  the 
blinding  onrush  of  snow  and  wind.  A  chaos 
of  driving  particles  comprised  the  universe. 
And  by  the  token  of  the  brush  underfoot 
250 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

they  had  wandered  from  the  road.  There 
had  been  no  attempt  on  the  miner's  part  to 
follow  any  tracks  they  had  left  on  their  west- 
ward course,  for  the  gale  and  drift  had  ob- 
literated every  sign,  almost  as  soon  as  the 
horse's  hoofs  had  ploughed  them  in  the  snow. 

Believing  that  the  narrow  road  across  the 
desolation  of  the  valley  lay  to  the  right,  he 
forged  ahead  in  that  direction.  Soon  they 
came  upon  smoother  walking,  which  he 
thought  was  an  indication  that  the  road 
they  sought  was  underfoot.  It  was  not. 
He  plodded  onward  for  fifteen  minutes,  how- 
ever, before  he  knew  he  had  made  a  mistake. 

The  storm  was,  if  possible,  more  furious. 
The  snow  flew  thicker ;  it  stung  more  sharply, 
and  seemed  to  come  from  every  direction. 

"We'll  stand  right  here  behind  the  horse 
till  it  quits,"  he  said.  "  It  can't  keep  up  a 
lick  like  this." 

But  turning  about,  in  an  effort  to  face  the 
animal  away  from  the  worst  of  the  blizzard, 
he  kicked  a  clump  of  sage  brush  arched  fair- 
ly over  by  its  burden  of  snow.  Instantly  a 
startled  rabbit  leaped  from  beneath  the 

17  251 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

shrub  and  bounded  against  the  horse's  legs, 
and  then  away  in  the  storm.  In  affright  the 
horse  jerked  madly  backward.  The  bridle 
was  broken.  It  held  for  a  second,  then  tore 
away  from  the  animal's  head  and  fell  in  a 
heap  in  the  snow. 

"Whoa,  boy! — whoa!"  said  the  miner,  in 
a  quiet  way,  but  the  horse,  in  his  terror, 
snorted  at  the  brush  and  galloped  away,  to 
be  lost  from  sight  on  the  instant. 

For  a  moment  the  miner,  with  his  bun- 
dled little  burden  in  his  arms,  started  in 
pursuit  of  the  bronco.  But  even  the  animal's 
tracks  in  the  snow  were  being  already  effaced 
by  the  sweep  of  the  powdery  gale.  The  ut- 
ter futility  of  searching  for  anything  was 
harshly  thrust  upon  the  miner's  senses. 

They  were  lost  in  that  valley  of  snow,  cold, 
and  blizzard. 

"  We'll  have  to  make  a  shelter  the  best  we 
can,"  he  said,  "and  wait  here,  maybe  half 
an  hour,  till  the  storm  has  quit." 

He  kicked  the  snow  from  a  cluster  of  sage- 
brush shrubs,  and  behind  this  flimsy  bar- 
rier presently  crouched,  with  the  shivering 
252 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

pup,  and  with  the  silent  little  foundling  in 
his  arms. 

What  hours  that  merciless  blizzard  raged, 
no  annals  of  Nevada  tell.  What  struggles 
the  gray  old  miner  made  to  find  his  way 
homeward  before  its  wrath,  what  a  fight  it 
was  he  waged  against  the  elements  till  night 
came  on  and  the  worst  of  the  storm  had 
ceased,  could  never  be  known  in  Borealis. 

But  early  that  night  the  teamster,  Lufkins, 
was  startled  by  the  neighing  of  a  horse,  and 
when  he  came  to  the  stable,  there  was  the 
half -blinded  animal  on  which  old  Jim  and 
tiny  Skeezucks  had  ridden  away  in  the 
morning — the  empty  saddle  still  upon  his 
back. 


CHAPTER 
XXI 


A   BED   IN   THE   SNOW 

'HE  great  stout  ore-wagons  stood 
in  the  snow  that  lay  on  the  Bor- 
ealis  street,  with  never  a  horse 
or  a  mule  to  keep  them  com- 
pany. Not  an  animal  fit  to  bear 
a  man  had  been  left  in  the  camp.  But  the 
twenty  men  who  rode  far  off  in  the  white 
desolation  out  beyond  were  losing  hope  as 
they  searched  and  searched  in  the  drifts  and 
mounds  that  lay  so  deep  upon  the  earth. 

By  feeble  lantern  glows  at  first,  and  later 
by  the  cold,  gray  light  of  dawn,  they  scanned 
the  road  and  the  country  for  miles  and  miles. 
It  was  five  o'clock,  and  six  in  the  morning, 
and  still  the  scattered  company  of  men  and 
horses  pushed  onward  through  the  snow. 

The  quest  became  one  of  dread.     They 
almost  feared  to  find  the  little  group.     The 
254 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

wind  had  ceased  to  blow,  but  the  air  was 
cold.  Gray  ribbons  of  cloud  were  stretched 
across  the  sky.  Desolation  was  everywhere 
—in  the  heavens,  on  the  plain,  on  the  dis- 
tant mountains.  All  the  world  was  snow, 
dotted  only  where  the  mounted  men  made 
insignificant  spots  against  the  waste  of  white. 

Aching  with  the  cold,  aching  more  in  their 
hearts,  the  men  from  Borealis  knew  a  hun- 
dred ways  to  fear  the  worst. 

Then  at  last  a  shout,  and  a  shot  from  a 
pistol,  sped  to  the  farthest  limits  of  the  line 
of  searching  riders  and  prodded  every  drop 
of  sluggish  blood  within  them  to  a  swift  ac- 
tivity. 

The  shout  and  signal  had  come  from  Web- 
ber, the  blacksmith,  riding  a  big,  bay  mare. 
Instantly  Field,  Bone,  and  Lufkins  galloped 
to  where  he  was  swinging  out  of  his  saddle. 

There  in  the  snow,  where  at  last  he  had 
floundered  down  after  making  an  effort 
truly  heroic  to  return  to  Borealis,  lay  the 
gray  old  Jim,  with  tiny  Skeezucks  strapped 
to  his  breast  and  hovered  by  his  motionless 
arms.  In  his  hands  the  little  mite  of  a  pil- 
255 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

grim  held  his  furry  doll.  On  the  snow  lay 
the  luncheon  Miss  Doc  had  so  lovingly  pre- 
pared. And  Tintoretto,  the  pup,  whom  nat- 
ure had  made  to  be  joyous  and  glad,  was 
prostrate  at  the  miner's  feet,  with  flakes  of 
white  all  blown  through  the  hair  of  his  coat. 
A  narrow  little  track  around  the  two  he  loved 
so  well  was  beaten  in  the  snow,  where  time 
after  time  the  worried  little  animal  had  cir- 
cled and  circled  about  the  silent  forms,  in 
some  brave,  puppy-wise  service  of  watching 
and  guarding,  faithfully  maintained  till  he 
could  move  no  more. 

For  a  moment  after  Bone  and  Lufkins 
joined  him  at  the  spot,  the  blacksmith  stood 
looking  at  the  half -buried  three.  The  whole 
tale  of  struggle  with  the  chill,  of  toiling  on- 
ward through  the  heavy  snow,  of  falling 
over  hidden  shrubs,  of  battling  for  their  lives, 
was  somehow  revealed  to  the  silent  men  by 
the  haggard,  death-white  face  of  Jim. 

"They  can't — be  dead,"  said  the  smith, 
in  a  broken  voice.  "  He — couldn't,  and — 
us  all — his  friends." 

But  when  he  knelt  and  pushed  away  some 
256 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

of  the  snow,  the  others  thought  his  heart  had 
lost  all  hope. 

It  was  Field,  however,  who  thought  to 
feel  for  a  pulse.  The  eager  searchers  from 
farther  away  had  come  to  the  place.  A 
dozen  pair  of  eyes  or  more  were  focussed  on 
the  man  as  he  held  his  breath  and  felt  for 
a  sign  of  life. 

"Alive! — He's  alive!"  he  cried,  excitedly. 
"  And  little  Skeezucks,  too !  For  God's  sake, 
boys,  let's  get  them  back  to  camp!" 

In  a  leap  of  gladness  the  men  let  out  a 
mighty  cheer.  From  every  saddle  a  rolled- 
up  blanket  was  swiftly  cut,  and  rough  but 
tender  hands  swept  off  the  snow  that  clung 
to  the  forms  of  the  miner,  the  child,  and  the 
pup. 


CHAPTER 
XXII 


CLEANING     THEIR   SLATE 

'EVER  could  castle  or  mansion 
contain    more    of   gladness    and 
joy  of  the  heart  than  was  crowd- 
ed into  the  modest  little  home 
of  Miss   Doc  when   at  last  the 
prayers  and  ministrations  of  a  score  of  men 
and  the  one  "decent"  woman  of  the  camp 
were  rewarded  by  the  Father  all-pitiful. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  bawl,  and  I'll  lick  any  feller 
that  calls  me  a  baby!"  said  the  blacksmith, 
but  he  laughed  and  "bawled"  together. 

They  had  saved  them  all,  but  a  mighty 
quiet  Jim  and  a  quieter  little  Skeezucks  and 
a  wholly  subdued  little  pup  lay  helpless  still 
in  the  care  of  the  awkward  squad  of  nurses. 

And  then  a  council  of  citizens  got  together 
at  the  dingy  shop  of  Webber  for  a  talk. 
"We  mustn't  fergit,"  said  the  smith, "that 
358 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

Jim  was  a  takin'  the  poor  little  feller  to  Fre- 
mont 'cause  he  thought  he  was  pinin'  away 
fer  children's  company;  and  I  guess  Jim 
knowed.  Now,  the  question  is,  what  we 
goin'  for  to  do?  Little  Skeezucks  ain't  a 
goin'  to  be  no  livelier  unless  he  gits  that 
company — and  maybe  he'll  up  and  die  of 
loneliness,  after  all.  Do  you  fellers  think 
we'd  ought  to  git  up  a  party  and  take  'em 
all  to  Fremont,  as  soon  as  they're  able  to 
stand  the  trip?" 

Bone,  the  bar-keep  answered:  "What's 
the  matter  with  gittin'  the  preacher  and  his 
wife  and  three  little  gals  to  come  back  here 
and  settle  in  Borealis?  I'm  goin'  in  for  min- 
in',  after  a  while,  myself,  and  I'll — and  I'll 
give  my  saloon  from  eight  to  two  on  Sun- 
days to  be  fixed  all  up  fer  a  church;  and  I 
reckon  we  kin  support  Parson  Stowe  as  slick 
as  any  town  in  all  Navady." 

For  a  moment  this  astonishing  speech  was 
followed  by  absolute  silence.  Then,  as  if 
with  one  accord,  the  men  all  cheered  in  ad- 
miration. 

"Let's  git  the  parson  back  right  off," 
259 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

cried  the  carpenter.  "I  kin  build  the  finest 
steeple  ever  was!" 

"Send  a  gang  to  fetch  him  here  to-day!" 
said  Webber. 

"I  wouldn't  lose  no  time,  or  he  may  git 
stuck  on  Fremont,  and  never  want  to  budge," 
added  Lufkins. 

Field  and  half  a  dozen  more  concurred. 

"  I'll  be  one  to  go  myself,"  said  the  black- 
smith, promptly.  "  Two  or  three  others  can 
come  along,  and  we'll  git  him  if  we  have  to 
steal  him — wife,  little  gals,  and  all!" 

But  the  party  was  yet  unformed  for  the 
trip  when  the  news  of  the  council's  inten- 
tions was  spread  throughout  the  camp,  and 
an  ugly  feature  of  the  life  in  the  mines  was 
revealed. 

The  gambler,  Parky,  sufficiently  recovered 
from  the  wound  in  his  arm  to  be  out  of  his 
house,  and  planning  a  secret  revenge  against 
old  Jim  and  his  friends,  was  more  than  mere- 
ly opposed  to  the  plan  which  had  come  from 
the  shop  of  Webber. 

"  It  don't  go  down,"  said  he  to  a  crowd, 
with  a  sneer  at  the  parson  and  with  oaths 
260 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

for  Bone.  "  I  own  some  Borealis  property 
myself,  and  don't  you  fergit  I'll  make  things 
too  hot  for  any  preacher  to  settle  in  the 
camp.  And  I  'ain't  yet  finished  with  the 
gang  that  thought  they  was  smart  on  New- 
Year's  eve — just  chew  that  up  with  your  cud 
of  tobacker!" 

With  half  a  dozen  ruffians  at  his  back — 
the  scum  of  prisons,  gambling-dens,  and  low 
resorts— he  summed  up  a  menace  not  to  be 
estimated  lightly.  Many  citizens  feared  to 
incur  his  wrath ;  many  were  weak,  and  there- 
fore as  likely  to  gather  to  his  side  as  not,  un- 
der the  pressure  he  could  put  upon  them. 

The  camp  was  suddenly  ripe  for  a  struggle. 
Right  and  decency,  or  lawlessness  and  vio- 
lence would  speedily  conquer.  There  could 
be  no  half-way  measures.  If  Webber  and  his 
following  had  been  persuaded  before  that 
Parson  Stowe  should  have  a  place  in  the 
town,  they  were  grimly  determined  on  the 
project  now. 

The    blacksmith  it  was  who    strung    up 
once  again   a  bar  of  steel   before   his  bhop 
and  rang  it  with  his  hammer. 
261 


BRUVVER  JIM'S  BABY 

There  were  forty  men  who  answered  to  the 
summons.  And  when  they  had  finished  the 
council  of  war  within  the  shop,  the  work  of 
an  upward  lift  had  been  accomplished.  A 
•supplement  was  added  to  the  work  of  sign- 
ing a  short  petition  requesting  Parson  Stowe 
to  come  among  them,  and  this  latter  took  the 
form  of  a  mandate  addressed  to  the  gam- 
bler and  his  backing  of  outlaws,  thieves,  and 
roughs.  It  was  brief,  but  the  weight  of  its 
words  was  mighty. 

"The  space  you're  using  in  Borealis  is 
wanted  for  decenter  purposes,"  it  read.  "  We 
give  you  twenty -four  hours  to  clear  out. 
Git! — and  then  God  have  mercy  on  your 
souls  if  any  one  of  the  gang  is  found  in 
Borealis!" 

This  was  all  there  was,  except  for  a  fearful 
drawing  of  a  coffin  and  a  skull.  And  such 
an  array  of  inky  names,  scrawled  with  ob- 
vious pains  and  distinctness,  was  on  the  pa- 
per that  argument  itself  was  plainly  hand 
in  hand  with  a  noose  of  rope. 

Opposition  to  an  army  of  forty  wrathful 
and  determined  men  would  have  been  but 
262 


BRUVVER   JIM'S    BABY 

suicide.  Parky  nodded  when  he  read  the 
note.  He  knew  the  game  was  closed.  He 
sold  all  his  interests  in  the  camp  for  what 
they  would  bring  and  bought  a  pair  of 
horses  and  a  carriage. 

In  groups  and  pairs  his  henchmen — sud- 
denly thrown  over  by  their  leader  to  hustle 
for  themselves — sneaked  away  from  the  town, 
many  of  them  leaving  immediately  in  their 
dread  of  the  grim  reign  of  law  now  come 
upon  the  camp.  Parky,  for  his  part,  waited 
in  some  deliberation,  and  then  drove  away 
with  a  sneer  upon  his  lips  when  at  last  his 
time  was  growing  uncomfortably  short. 

Decency  had  won — the  moral  slate  of  the 
camp  was  clean! 


CHAPTER 
XXIII 


A   DAY  OF  JOY 

'HERE  came  a  day — never  to  be 
forgotten  in  the  annals  of  Bor- 
ealis — when,  to  the  ringing  of  the 
bar  of  steel,  Parson  Stowe,  with 
his  pretty  little  wife  and  the  three 
little  red-capped  youngsters,  rode  once  more 
into  town  to  make  their  home  with  their 
big,  rough  friends. 

Fifty  awkward  men  of  the  mines  roared 
lustily  with  cheering.  Fifty  great  voices 
then  combined  in  a  sweet,  old  song  that  rang 
through  the  snow-clad  hills : 

"Lead,  Kindly  Light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom, 

Lead  Thou  me  on. 

The  night  is  dark,  and  I  am  far  from  home, 
Lead  Thou  me  on." 

And  the  first  official  acts   of  the  whole- 
some young  parson  were  conducted  in   the 
264 


BRUVVER    JIM'S    BABY 

"church"  that  Bone  had  given  to  the  town 
when  the  happy  little  Skeezucks  was  chris- 
tened "Carson  Boone "  and  the  drawling 
old  Jim  and  the  fond  Miss  Doc  were  united 
as  man  and  wife. 

"If  only  I'd  known  what  a  heart  she's 
got,  I'd  asked  her  before,"  the  miner  drawl- 
ed. "  But,  boys,  it's  never  too  late  to  pray 
for  sense." 

The  moment  of  it  all,  however,  which  the 
men  would  remember  till  the  final  call  of  the 
trumpet  was  that  in  which  the  three  little 
girls,  in  their  bright-red  caps,  came  in  at  the 
door  of  the  Dennihan  home.  They  would 
never  forget  the  look  on  the  face  of  their 
motherless,  quaint  little  waif  as  he  held  forth 
both  his  tiny  arms  to  the  vision  and  cried 
out: 

"Bruvver  Jim!" 


THE    END 


A     000118611     3 


